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An  Autobiography. 


3En  Eljxtt  Parte. 


WITH    ESSAYS. 


SECOND   EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
A.  WILLIAMS    AND    COMPANY. 

1873. 


Entered  according  to  A.ct  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

JOHN   WILSON   AND   SON, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at    Washington. 


cambrtdor: 
prb8s  of  john  wilson  and  son. 


PREFACE. 


The  writer's  name  is  not  given  on  the  title- 
page  of  this  little  waif,  for  the  same  reason  that 
nearly  all  the  names  of  persons  and  places  are 
omitted  in  it.  It  is  a  name  too  much  associated 
with  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  recent  con- 
flicts, to  give  it  any  buoyancy.  Friends  and 
acquaintance  will  not  complain  at  this  omission ; 
and  those  not  friends  will  only  be  too  glad  to 
remain  unnoticed. 

I  am  too  far  advanced  in  life  to  ask  any  thing 
more  than  justice  and  peace.  If  others  can 
account  for  my  imperfections  as  I  can  for  theirs, 
this  consummation  will  not  be  long  in  coming. 
I  am  now  looking  towards  the  glories  of  sunset, 
with  the  calm  assurance  that  nearly  sixty-two 
years  of  equally  glorious  sunrise  have  given  me. 
So  far  as  I  have  truly  and  spiritually  lived,  I  am 
sure  there  is  a  spiritual  and  eternal  life. 

When  I  wrote  my  first  telegraphic  despatch, 
I  showed  it  to  one  of  my  sons,  who,  as  a  busi- 


IV  PREFACE. 

ness  man,  had  long  been  familiar  with  this  kind 
of  message ;  and  at  first  glance  he  said,  "  You 
will  have  to  pay  ten  cents  a  word,  and  you  do 
not  need  half  of  this  to  answer  your  purpose." 
Under  this  stimulus,  I  did  greatly  reduce  the 
number ;  9,nd  have  since  often  thought  of  this 
lesson  in  regard  to  the  influence  or  effect  of  the 
telegraph  upon  literature ;  have  often  wished, 
when  listening  to  inflated  speeches,  and  reading 
inflated  books,  that  a  high,  and  even  prohibi- 
tive, tariff  could  be  imposed  for  every  super- 
fluous word.  The  variety  of  excitements  and 
engagements  of  most  persons,  in  these  late  years, 
has  so  greatly  increased,  that  time  is  the  most 
important  element  in  literary  calculations.  In 
any  kind  of  address  to  the  public,  the  great  art 
has  come  to  consist  in  condensation  of  thought 
and  expression ;  in  deciding  not  what  to  put  in, 
but  what  to  leave  out  of,  written  or  spoken 
effort.  When  people  talk  by  lightning  and 
travel  by  steam,  or  find,  in  the  intense  compe- 
titions of  modern  life,  so  few  opportunities  to 
attend  to  their  own  most  important  interests 
and  duties,  no  wonder  they  are  getting  impa- 
tient of  wordiness.  The  blessed  era  is  hastening 
when  speech-makers  and  book-makers,  if  they 
wish  to  be  heard  or  read,  must  say  less  and 


PEEFACE.  T 

suggest  more ;  must  employ  language  to  express, 
not  to  conceal  thought. 

In  the  conviction  of  this  increasing  necessity, 
I  have  put  half  a  century's  life  into  this  little 
book ;  or  rather  have  tried  to  select  out  of  this 
period  what  would  be  of  most  public  interest. 
And  I  now  send  it  out,  with  the  feeling  that 
those  who  read  the  brief  first  and  second  parts, 
or  consider  the  conditions  of  my  childhood  and 
youth,  wiU  not  be  severe  in  judging  of  what 
follows.  Let  them  remember  that  they  here 
"know  only  in  part;"  that  no  man  with  true 
self-respect  can  in  all  things  defend  or  justify 
himself  to  others;  that  the  highest  and  most 
sacred  things  are,  in  the  human  as  in  the  divine 
life,  unrevealable,  except  through  a  sympathetic 
experience. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  have  seen  portions 
of  this  Autobiography  in  the  "  Religious  Maga- 
zine," and  the  comments  of  the  editor  in  the  last 
September  number  of  that  monthly.  Chapter 
xix.  was  rejected  as  "  too  querulous,  severe,  and 
controversial"  in  its  character.  It  is  in  itself 
an  answer  to  those  criticisms,  and  is  here  pub- 
lished that  the  public  may  have  an  opportunity 
to  decide,  from  the  paper  itself,  upon  the  justice 
of  this  rejection,  and  of  the  editor's  comments 


VI  PBEFACE. 

on  the  previous  pages.  The  last  chapter  seems 
to  me  all  the  stronger  and  better  for  the  rejected 
chapter  which  precedes  it. 

The  Essays  are  added,  because  those  who 
follow  the  outlines  of  this  life,  through  factory 
and  farm,  through  school  and  ministry,  through 
the  struggles  and  trials  of  this  long  period, 
may  wish  to  know  more  of  results,  —  of  inlook 
and  outlook,  —  may  wish  to  know  more,  in  this 
harvest-time,  of  the  harvest,  of  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  such  circumstances  have 
matured. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Childhood 1 

n.  Youth 31 

in.  Pkofessional  Experience 63 

IV.  Reflections 201 

ESSAYS.' 

I.  The  Processes  of  Life 225 

n.  Man  and  Nature 240 

in.  Human  Consciousness 255 

IV.  Beginning  and  Ending 266 

V.  Social  ok  Common-wealth 283 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


PART    FIRST. 


I. 

"DEFORE  entering  upon  a  life  so  briefly 
sketched,  I  wish  to  say  a  word  of  the 
general  character  of  its  first  period.  It  was 
the  most  transitional  period  in  New-England 
history.  Previous  to  the  war  with  the  mother 
country,  religion  had  been  the  great  predomi- 
nant interest. 

The  union  between  Church  and  State  had 
been  continued  so  long,  and  been  so  intimate, 
that  one  was  nothing  without  the  other.  But 
the  political  division  and  party  strife  which 
came  in  with  the  war  changed  all  this  condition 
of  public  affairs,  and  gave  immense  prominence 
to  political  questions.  When  we  came  out  of 
that  conflict,  we  were,  religiously  speaking, 
awfully  demoralized.     Our  people,  as  soldiers, 


2  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

had  mingled  freely  with  the  soldiers  of  other  sec- 
tions of  the  country ;  and,  without  their  accus- 
tomed restraints,  they  went  from  one  extreme 
to  the  opposite,  from  ascetic  Puritanism  to  the 
scoffing  infidel  spirit  so  rampant  in  France ; 
and  so  identified  with  republican  liberty,  at  this 
time,  everywhere.  The  spell  of  the  old  religion 
was  broken.  The  old,  orderly,  industrious  hab- 
its were  gone.  Intemperance  came  in  like  a 
flood.  Education  was  neglected.  The  whole 
tone  of  society  was  lowered ;  and  there  is  no 
time  in  our  whole  history  that  we  can  look  back 
upon  with  so  little  pride  or  pleasure. 

Half  a  century  ago  I  was  ten  years  old ;  but 
as  I  was  not  a  precocious  child  I  cannot  go  back 
of  that  more  than  five  years.  My  earliest  recol- 
lections are  of  my  surroundings  at  that  time. 
In  an  old,  unpuinted,  weather-beaten  building 
used'for  a  fulling-mill,  whose  roof  rose  just  above 
the  surface  of  the  mill-dam,  I  found  my  home. 
The  dam  served  as  a  public  highway.  On  one 
side  of  the  little  stream  was  a  rude  saw-mill,  on 
the  other  some  kind  of  a  factory.  This  old  struct- 
ure, half  house  and  half  fulling-mill,  in  which  I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  3 

was  bom,  stood  on  a  small  island,  about  midway  of 
the  rivulet,  with  its  back  against  the  wall  of  the 
dam ;  and  in  front  there  was  a  grass-plot  appro- 
priated for  bleaching  cloth  which  had  passed 
through  the  fulling  process.  I  still  hear  the  loud 
clanking  made  by  the  rude  machines,  the  rush- 
ing water  upon  the  wheels  and  over  the  M^aste- 
ways.  I  still  see  my  dear  mother  (a  heavenly 
soul,  greatly  tried  with  many  earthly  cares), 
spreading  cloth  upon  the  grass,  or  stretching  it 
upon  hooks,  while  she  kept  an  eye  upon  me, 
lest  I  should  stray  to  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Such  were  my  surroundings  ;  and  the  impres- 
sions received  from  them  in  all  their  details  are 
now  as  distinct  as  they  were  half  a  century  ago. 
Of  my  employments,  I  remember  only  those  of 
making  mud-pies,  with  an  older  brother,  upon 
the  road,  and  sand  caves  in  a  large  bank  near 
the  saw-mill,  picking  violets  out  of  the  green 
grass,  and  cooling  my  little  feet  in  the  shallow, 
running  waters. 

My  father  was  not  at  home  at  this  time.  He 
had  enlisted  as  a  soldier  in  our  last  war  with 
Great  Britain ;  and,  as  there  were  five  of  us 
children,   our  family  was   extremely  poor.     I 


4  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

would  use  the  phrase  common  in  such  cases, 
"poor  but  respectable,"  did  I  not  fear  that, 
judged  by  any  standard  of  respectability  now 
known,  I  should  not  be  believed.  I  wiU,  how- 
ever, add,  they  were  not  much  poorer  than,  and 
so  about  as  respectable  as,  any  of  the  families  in 
that  neighborhood  or  town  at  this  period. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  we  moved  to  another 
part  of  the  town,  where  my  father  took  charge 
of  a  saw  and  grist  mill.  Our  house  here  was 
by  another  mill-pond,  and  not  much  better  than 
that  of  the  other  location.  The  first  thing  I 
remember  of  our  new  home,  was  of  looking  out 
the  window  across  the  pond,  and  seeing  a  great 
water-wheel  revolving  on  the  outside  of  the  old 
dilapidated  mill.  A  little  farther  on,  in  the  same 
direction,  was  a  small  yellow  store,  a  duU-red, 
boxy-looking  yarn  factory ;  and  three  low,  one- 
story,  unpainted  houses,  all  alike,  and  aU  ex- 
tremely dismal  in  their  whole  appearance  and 
surroundings.  Just  beyond  these  there  was  a 
sandy  sheep-pasture,  in  one  corner  of  which, 
next  the  road,  there  was  a  graveyard,  distin- 
guished from  the  rest  of  the  field  only  by  a  few 
graves,  with  monstrous,  slaty  headstones  slant- 


AM  AUTOBIOGEAPHT.  5 

ing  different  ways,  seldom  one  standing  upright, 
probably,  as  somebody  has  said  of  gravestones 
in  general,  alhiding  to  the  epitaphs  upon  them, 
"  because  they  lie  so."  There  was  no  fence 
near  this  unrural  cemetery  except  that  which 
separated  it  from  the  road.  The  entrance  dif- 
fered from  the  rest  of  this  fence,  only  by  having 
two  common  mortised  posts,  and  four  rough, 
split,  cedar  rails,  painted  black. 

This  graveyard,  associated  with  the  gloomy 
ideas  of  death  then  prevalent,  was  long  a  terror 
to  me  ;  and  years  after,  when  I  had  occasion  to 
pass  it  in  the  evening,  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes, 
and  run  with  all  my  might,  lest  I  should  see 
some  of  the  ghosts  that  were  supposed  to  haunt 
such  places.  All  the  scenes  and  persons  of  that 
little  world  are  very  familiar ;  but  of  the  first 
three  years  spent  there,  of  events  and  pursuits, 
I  have  scarcely  a  recollection.  The  life  of  a  boy 
between  five  and  eight  years  of  age  must  have 
been  very  meagre  not  to  have  left  more  various 
and  distinct  impressions.  I  had  no  toys,  no 
books,  no  skates,  not  even  a  jack-knife  ;  none  of 
those  thousand  little  things  that  now  make  up 
the  l?oy's  world.     Life  then  was  a  hard  struggle 


6  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

for  all ;  and  nobody  had  any  time  to  devote  to 
me,  to  my  amusement  or  instruction.  I  did 
learn  to  read  and  spell,  enjoyed  my  annual  two- 
months'  school,  and  loved  my  teacher.  But  a 
brother  and  sister  had  in  this  time  been  added 
to  our  family  of  five,  and  poverty  drove  me  at 
the  early  age  of  eight  into  the  little  red  factory, 
where  cotton  machinery  had  just  been  intro- 
duced ;  and  where  I  soon  had  reasons  enough 
for  not  forgetting  any  thing  that  belongs  to  the 
later  years  of  my  boyhood. 

Those  scenes  and  circumstances  form  the  first 
chapter  of  a  life  that  may  be  more  interesting 
as  it  proceeds  through  other  phases :  an  intima- 
tion that  is  ventured,  lest  the  reader  should 
fancy  any  good  thing  cannot  come  out  of  such 
a  Nazareth  as  is  here  described.  • 


AX  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 


n. 


Why  do  we  so  often  hear  elderly  people  speak- 
ing of  the  "good  old  times,"  and  lamenting 
the  present  degeneracy  ?  They  must  have  had 
a  singularly  happy  childhood,  or  a  faculty  of 
forgetting  the  evils  and  miseries  of  the  past. 
My  experience  is  all  the  other  way.  I  never 
knew  what  a  happy  childhood  was,  in  any 
modern  sense  of  this  phrase.  My  own  happi- 
ness began  with  manhood,  and,  I  am  bound 
to  add,  has  been  increasing  these  many,  many 
years.  I  say  this  here  only  to  encourage  the 
reader  to  go  on  with  the  present  sad  chapter, 
which  embraces  my  four  years  from  eight  to 
twelve,  except  two  months  each  year  at  school, 
in  the  old  red  factory,  where,  under  an  ignorant 
and  tyrannical  overseer,  I  worked  twelve  hours 
a  day,  standing  on  my  bare  feet  most  of  the  year, 
was  poorly  fed,  and  poorly  clothed.  I  had  no 
holidays  save  those  of  Fast  and  Thanksgiving, 
the  former  being  more  than  an  offset  to  the  lat- 


8  AN  ATJTOBIOGBAPHY. 

ter.  Oh,  the  unnaturalness,  the  monotony,  the 
weariness,  the  actual  privations,  the  positive 
sufferings  of  such  a  life  to  a  sensitive  boy,  no 
languao-e  can  describe  ! 

I  remember  that  I  got  along  with  the  confine- 
ment much  better  in  winter  than  in  summer. 
The  first  year  my  carding-machine  stood  near  a 
window ;  where  I  could  look  out  over  an  orchard 
and  a  meadow ;  and  when  I  saw  the  cows  lying 
in  the  sunshine  on  the  green  grass,  and  the  birds 
hopping  and  singing  in  the  fragrant  apple-trees, 
I  felt  as  if  I  must  do  some  desperate  thing,  and 
get  out  among  them.  I  doubt  if  prison-life  was 
ever  sadder  to  any  man  than  this  factory  life 
was  to  me. 

On  one  occasion  my  longing  for  a  day  out  of 
doors,  with  some  little  variety  to  it,  was  so  great, 
that  I  deliberately  put  my  fingers  into  the  cog- 
wheels of  my  machine,  where  they  would  get  so 
crushed  as  to  reprieve  me  tiU  they  were  healed. 
The  pain  of  the  wound  was  nothing  to  the  joy 
of  liberation  from  such  bondage.  And  to  this 
time  I  never  can  hear  a  factory-bell  ring  in  the 
early  morning,  or  see  those  buildings  lighted  in 
the  evening,  without  thinking  of  my  many  long, 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  9 

dreary,  miserable  days,  extended  througli  those 
four  long,  miserable  years. 

I  have  spoken  of  my  summer  trials.  But  think 
of  the  short  days  of  winter,  when  a  little  boy,  to 
whom  sleep  is  always  so  sweet,  had  to  get  up, 
eat  a  poor  breakfast,  and  go  a  long  distance  in 
the  cold,  by  the  time  it  was  light  enough  to 
commence  work ;  run  home  at  mid-day,  eat  din- 
ner, and  get  back  in  forty-five  minutes ;  and 
then  work  on  till  half-past  seven  in  the  even- 
ing, two  or  three  hours  after  dark  !  Of  course, 
I  was  then  too  tired  and  sleepy  even  to  feel  my 
hunger.  "  And  what,"  it  may  be  asked,  "  did 
you  get  for  such  work  ?  "  I  answer,  taking  the 
foiu"  years,  from  seventy-five  cents  to  one  dollar 
and  twenty-five  cents  per  week. 

Oh,  those  "  old  times  "  'were  any  thing  but 
"  good "  to  me  !  Six  days  of  such  work,  and 
then  the  Jewish  Puritan,  or,  to  the  boy,  repres- 
sive, stupid  sabbath.  As  I  look  back  upon  it, 
it  is  difi^cult  to  decide  which  of  the  seven  days 
of  the  week  was  the  most  wearisome,  monoto- 
nous, hateful.  I  must  not  go  out  into  the  fields, 
I  must  not  play,  or  make  any  noise.  My  nature 
must  be  repressed  in  every  direction,  because 
1* 


10  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

it  was  the  sabbath.  I  grew  up  in  the  idea 
that  God  required  such  a  strict  observance  on 
his  own  account.  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  "  the  sabbath  was  made  for  man ; "  and 
certainly  not  that  it  was  made  for  boys.  Then 
I  remember  going  between  ten  and  twelve 
o'clock,  about  two  miles,  almost  every  Sunday, 
to  church.  This  walk,  in  warm  weather,  was 
the  one  refreshment  of  the  week  ;  because  it 
took  me  across  the  fields  and  through  the  woods, 
where  I  heard  the  songs  of  birds,  and  saw  so 
many  beautiful  leaves,  mosses,  and  wild  flowers. 
But  of  the  meeting,  when  the  walk  was  ended, 
I  have  none  but  the  most  dismal  associations. 
The  old,  barn-like  meeting-house ;  the  unpainted, 
rickety  horse-sheds  ;  the  rows  of  stiff  Lombardy 
poplars  that  led  up  to  the  parsonage ;  the  old 
minister  under  the  grotesque  sounding-board; 
the  solemn,  pompous  deacons,  imder  the  high, 
narrow  pulpit,  deaconing  off  the  first  lines  of 
the  hymns  to  the  singers ;  the  veteran  chorister 
with  his  pitch-pipe  and  loud  announcement  ot 
the  tunes ;  the  long  prayers ;  the  longer  sermons ; 
the  short  recess  at  noon  ;  the  gossiping  women 
around  the  doors ;  and  the  toddy-drinking  men 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  11 

in  and  around  the  old  tavern,  with  its  large 
gallows-looking  sign,  — all  these,  after  the  nov- 
elty of  the  first  impression  was  over,  gave  me 
neither  pleasure  nor  profit. 

I  always  had  to  walk  fast  to  keep  up  with  my 
father,  and  so  would  get  quite  warm  by  the 
time  of  arrival ;  and  when  the  winters  came  I 
had  to  go  immediately  into  that  cold  church, 
where  there  was  no  fire,  and  not  even  plaster- 
ing on  the  walls,  and  sit  on  straight,  high- 
backed  seats,  shaking  with  cold  through  those 
long,  metaphysical,  theological  discourses,  drawn 
out  to  "tenthly,"  "lastly,"  "finally,"  "to  con- 
clude," and  "  the  improvement ;  "  while  the 
only  word  that  I  could  appreciate  or  rely  upon, 
so  that  it  might  do  me  any  good,  was  the  final 
"Amen." 

There  was  the  same  weary  round  to  go 
through  again,  after  an  hour,  in  the  afternoon. 
It  makes  me  shiver  even  now,  after  all  these 
years,  just  to  think  of  that  experience.  What 
an  effective  means  of  moral  and  religious  educa- 
tion those  old  sabbath  services  must  have  been 
to  us  boys !  —  only  I  did  not  then  see  it  in  that 
light. 


12  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Oh,  those  "  good  old  times,"  when  we  had  to 
carry  our  shoes  to  meeting  in  our  hands  till  we 
got  near  the  church,  and  then  repeat  the  pro- 
cess soon  after  we  left  it  to  go  home  ;  when  the 
only  difference  between  our  summer  and  winter 
clothing  was  the  one  small  thread  of  woollen,  on 
the  cotton  warp,  called  satinet;  when  people 
were  living  in  the  direst  poverty  and  most 
shocking  intemperance ;  ragged,  barefooted,  in 
mean,  unpainted,  unfurnished  houses,  the  bro- 
ken windows  of  which  were  stuffed  with  old 
hats  and  rags ;  when  there  were  but  two  carpets 
in  our  whole  town,  and  a  real  scarcity  of  the 
necessaries  of  life  generally. 

Of  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  this  par- 
ticular neighborhood,  I  will  here  say  nothing, 
because  I  suppose  my  readers  can  easily  infer 
from  any  part  of  life  such  as  that  what  the 
whole  must  have  been,  —  must  see  that  it  was 
necessarily  all  on  the  same  low  plane.  Give  an 
accomplished  naturalist  a  single  bone,  picked 
up  by  some  "traveller  in  some  remote  island  or 
some  newly  discovered  region  of  the  earth,  it 
may  be  the  only  one  of  the  kind  ever  seen  or 
known,  and  yet  he  will  from  that  single  sped- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  18 

men  reconstruct  the  whole  animal.  He  will 
give  its  size,  its  form,  its  food,  and  all  the  gen- 
eral habits  of  its  life.  Give  a  philosophical 
religionist  any  people's  idea  of  God,  in  any  age 
or  nation,  and  he  will, from  this  one  idea  accu- 
rately reconstruct  their  whole  society ;  will  say 
with  great  certainty  how  high  their  attainments 
were  in  all  other  departments.  The  different 
parts  of  society  always  fit  each  other,  like  the 
different  bones  of  any  animal. 


14  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY* 


m. 


At  the  age  of  twelve,  new  scenes  and  new 
employments  were  opened  to  me.  My  father 
took  a  farm  on  shares  with  the  owner,  who  also 
owned  some  fifty  others,  and  who,  of  course, 
was  the  great  man  of  the  town.  He  got  these 
farms  by  lending  a  little  money  on  them,  which 
he  foresaw  the  poor  borrowers  could  never  pay, 
and  then  closing  up  the  mortgages.  He  was 
generally  regarded  as  a  very  hard  landlord. 
And  it  seems  to  me,  as  I  look  back  over  those 
times,  that  men  generally  were  much  harder, 
more  exacting,  and  unfeeling  in  their  business 
transactions  than  they  are  now.  Fathers  of 
large  families  were  dragged  from  their  homes 
and  long  kept  in  jails  for  small  debts ;  the 
town's  poor  were  annually  let  by  auction  to 
the  lowest  bidder ;  and  there  was  a  general  self- 
ishness, or  inhumanity,  which  no  public  opinion 
would  now  tolerate. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  15 

The  poor  farm  which  we  took  upon  "  halves," 
I.e.,  to  give  the  owner  half  of  all  we  could  get 
from  it,  had  been  skinned  by  a  former  tenant ; 
but  as  my  father  and  older  brothers  were  very 
efficient  workers,  we  managed  to  get  along  bet- 
ter than  ever  before. 

The  scene  of  this  new  life  was  in  the  same 
town,  two  miles  from  the  others  already  de- 
scribed. Our  house  was  old  and  unpainted ; 
two  stories  in  front  and  one  behind,  with  a 
chimney  that  literally  occupied  the  centre. 
There  was  a  dark,  unventilated  hole,  called  a 
cellar,  which  I  have  special  reasons  for  remem- 
bering, and  with  which  I  have  some  terrible 
associations.  There  were  no  closets  with  doors 
where  things  could  be  put  away,  but  a  few 
niches  in  the  great  chimney,  and  shelves  in  the 
corners  of  the  rooms.  I  suppose  this  old  con- 
struction of  houses  grew  out  of  the  fact  that 
people  then  had  so  little  furniture  of  any  kind, 
they  wanted  to  give  conspicuous  places  to  every 
thing  they  had  got.  Why  have  closets  to  shut 
things  away,  when  there  is  nothing  to  put  in 
them ;  when  people  ate  off  pewter  plates,  and 
carried  their  whole  wardrobe  on  their  backs, 


16  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

without  being  burdened,  or,  in  any  present 
sense,  half-clothed? 

In  this  old-fashioned  farm-house  I  lived  this 
third  chapter  of  life.  The  work  was  hard,  hoe- 
ing corn,  chopping  wood,  taking  care  of  cattle, 
and  all  the  usual  heavy  farm  work ;  but  it  was 
out  in  the  freedom  of  the  air  and  sunshine,  with 
the  variety  and  reality  of  nature ;  and  this,  after 
years  of  factory  confinement,  was  delightful. 

Then  by  walking  two  miles  I  could  attend 
school  two  or  three  months  every  winter.  Here 
was  another  great  source  of  improvement  and 
happiness,  which,  through  past  experience,  I 
was  fully  j)repared  to  appreciate.  That  district 
school,  which  now,  after  half  a  century,  seems 
so  poor  in  itself  and  so  mean  in  all  its  surround- 
ings, was  the  best  thing  then  known  to  me.  It 
stood  in  the  geographical  centre  of  the  district, 
without  reference  to  any  accommodation  of  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants,  alone,  on  a  bleak 
hill,  at  considerable  distance  from  the  ground, 
with  only  a  stone  post  under  each  corner,  like 
the  old-fashioned  corn-barns.  It  was  a  square 
room,  with  low  ceiling,  single  floor,  with  many 
cracks,  and  its  only  door  opened  from  the  cold 


AK  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  17 

north-west  comer.  So,  with  the  coming  in  and 
going  out  of  the  scholars,  the  bringing  in  of 
great  quantities  of  wood  to  supply  the  large, 
open,  all-devouring  fireplace,  there  was  no  lack 
of  ventilation ;  and  I  need  not  add,  there  was 
l)lenty  of  freezing  and  thawing,  many  flushed 
heads  and  cold  feet,  in  that  little  boxy  room. 

Then  we  had  different  teachers  almost  every 
season,  several  of  whom  I  have  occasion  to 
remember  without  much  interest  or  affection ; 
coarse,  rough,  ignorant  men,  rude  in  manner, 
and  ungrammatical  in  speech,  chosen  partly 
because  they  were  large  and  strong,  and  not 
likely  to  spoil  the  boys  by  sparing  the  rod.  The 
schools  were  not  graded  in  those  days.  All  the 
youth  of  the  district,  from  four  to  twenty-one 
years,  attended,  and  were  under  one  teacher. 
Many  of  the  boys  who  went  in  these  short  win- 
ter terms  were  strong,  full-grown  young  men ; 
and  the  strength  of  the  master  was  often  called 
into  requisition.  But  what  scenes  those  school- 
rows  presented  to  children  of  a  tender  and 
impressible  age ! 

I  remember,  one  very  stormy  day,  when  only 
few  went  home  at  noon,  and  many  were  stand- 


18  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ing  round  the  fire  at  the  close  of  the  hour  for 
recess,  I  came  in  just  as  the  order  had  been 
given  for  the  scholars  to  take  their  seats :  I  did 
not  hear  the  order,  and  remaining  a  moment, 
unconscious  of  any  disobedience,  the  master 
came  up,  put  his  hand  in  my  hair,  and  jerked 
me  backwards  to  the  floor  ;  then  pulled  me  up, 
and  ordered  me  to  hold  out  my  hand  for  a  ferul- 
ing. This  happened  at  a  time  when  the  patience 
of  the  school  was  exhausted  by  the  tyranny  and 
brutality  of  the  master.  Two  of  the  largest 
boys  came  to  my  defence,  and,  thrusting  the 
tyrant  from  the  house,  locked  the  door  against 
him.  Another  soon  took  his  place  and  the 
school  went  on ;  but,  as  a  general  rule,  order 
was  kept  in  those  days,  by  force  on  one  side  and 
fear  on  the  other. 

Of  the  books  and  instruction  of  that  period, 
perhaps  the  less  said  the  better.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  decide  which  were  the  more  arbitrary 
and  mechanical,  the  geography  and  arithmetic 
or  the  methods  of  teaching  them.  But  we 
learned  to  read  and  write.  We  acquired  habits 
of  obedience  and  order.  We  learned  by  defer- 
ence to  one  another,  by  greater  social  friction,  a 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  19 

larger  degree  of  courtesy.  We  learned  to  love 
our  school,  poor  as  it  was,  as  the  best  of  our 
blessings.  There  were  youth  and  health  and 
irrepressible  human  nature  in  it.  There  was 
as  warm  blood  in  our  veins,  and  as  fresh  life 
in  our  hearts,  as  can  be  found  in  any  of  the 
luxurious,  palatial  school-houses  of  the  present 
generation. 

So  we  managed  to  get  good  out  of  what  was 
not  good  in  itself,  as  we  have  often  done  ever 
since.  We  were  "  building  better  than  we 
knew."  The  best  of  any  man's  real  practical 
education  never  comes  from  the  school ;  and  we 
turn  in  our  next  chapter  to  the  real  experience 
of  life. 


20  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


rv. 


Three  years  of  a  New  England  farm,  and 
common  district  school,  were  my  experience 
half  a  century  ago.  What  did  I  get  from  that 
farm  life  then  ?  And  what  remains  with  me 
now? 

I  got  a  good  foundation  of  physical  health 
and  strength,  and  patient  endurance  of  many 
severe  privations  and  hardships.  I  learned  to 
do  well,  and  with  great  facility,  all  kinds  of 
farm  work.  I  learned  the  characters  and  habits 
of  all  kinds  of  domestic  animals  ;  of  garden  and 
field  plants ;  the  names  and  characteristics  of 
pasture  shrubs,  and  forest  trees  ;  of  grasses  and 
wild  flowers ;  of  birds,  insects,  and  all  the  thou- 
sand details  of  the  phenomena  of  this  natural 
life,  at  a  period  when  all  things  make  the  most 
deep  and  durable  impressions.  Through  all  the 
seasons  of  the  year,  the  influences  of  nature  were 
a  perpetual  source  of  knowledge  and  pleasure. 
From  the  first  green  grass  and  songs  of  birds, 


AK  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  21 

to  the  budding  leaves  and  bursting  flowers  of 
spring ;  from  the  humming  insects,  the  fragrant 
hay,  and  delicious  fruits  of  summer ;  from  the 
splendid-colored  trees,  the  rich  and  varied  har- 
vests of  autumn ;  from  the  pure  snow  or  glitter- 
ing ice,  resting  on  the  smallest  branches  of  the 
great  treps  ;  from  the  chopping  and  sledding  of 
the  beautiful  white  birches,  the  fragrant  cedars 
and  pines ;  hearing  the  echoes  of  the  woodman's 
axe  through  the  forest,  in  the  clear,  bracing  air 
of  winter, — from  all  these,  I  got  something  infi- 
nitely better  than  church  or  school  could  then 
afford.  I  got  at  the  great  reahties  of  nature,  at 
God's  world  in  the  freshness  of  my  youth ;  and 
thus  early  found  it  so  much  better  than  man's, 
so  grand  and  lovely,  so  full  of  wisdom  and 
beauty,  that  I  have  studied  it  with  wonder  and 
delight,  and  loved  it  supremely,  ever  since. 

In  those  three  years  I  had  little  that  could 
properly  be  called  companionship,  social  or 
mental  sympathy.  There  were  no  persons  in 
the  neighborhood  that  interested  me.  It  might 
have  been  my  fault,  but  I  grew  up  in  this 
feeling  of  loneliness ;  and  was  thus  forced  into 
communion  with  nature.     I  delighted  in  every 


22  AN  AUTOBIOGBAPHY. 

opportunity  to  wander  by  the  brooks,  in  the 
meadows,  upon  the  hills,  and  through  the  woods, 
where  there  was  nothing  coarse,  rude,  unreal,  or 
inharmonious,  as  there  was  in  society,  at  that 
time,  everywhere  around  me.  So  of  the  influ- 
ences of  society  or  home,  in  shaping  my  future, 
I  will  say  nothing.  I  will,  in  this  connection, 
merely  allude  to  two  things  about  that  old  life 
for  which,  after  all,  I  remain  truly  grateful. 
One  is,  that  I  was  brought  up  in  the  country, 
where  I  learned  of  God  directly  in  his  own 
world,  in  the  great  book  of  nature,  whose  every 
chapter,  leaf,  and  page  is  so  full  of  interest  and 
instruction.  Another  is,  that,  when  I  see,  as 
I  now  do,  so  many  indolent,  inefficient,  good- 
for-nothing  young  people  everywhere  in  society, 
I  am  thankful  that  I  was  early  trained  to  work, 
and  never  ashamed  to  have  it  known. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


V. 


My  next  sketcli  is  of  two  years  more  of  fac- 
tory life,  in  a  different  scene,  and  under  differ- 
ent conditions.  This  was  in  the  early  period  of 
American  manufacturers,  when  all  kinds  of  new 
machinery  began  to  be  introduced ;  when  there 
were  no  great  corporations,  and  little  factories 
were  built  in  small,  out-of-the-way  places,  by 
the  little  streams  abounding  in  every  part  of 
New  England.  The  war  and  its  embargo  had 
destroyed  our  commerce ;  and  the  poor,  unprof- 
itable farming  of  that  time  had  necessitated  a 
change  in  the  pursuits  of  the  people.  So  the 
rising  tide  came  up  to  our  town  and  swept  me 
twelve  miles  from  all  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood. 
That  was  a  great  distance  in  those  days ;  and  to 
me  it  was  truly  going  out  into  the  world.  It 
was  the  commencement  of  a  new  life. 

In  leaving  the  flat  sandy  region  in  which  I 
was  brought  up,  and  approaching  my  new  home, 
I  obtained  the  first  sight  of  any  thing  that  might 


24  AN  AXJTOBIOGEAPHY. 

be  properly  called  a  hill.  I  never  shall  forget 
the  impression  it  made  upon  me.  It  seemed  a 
vast  mountain,  towering  to  the  skies.  Oh,  how 
little  I  then  knew  of  the  great  world  in  which  I 
have  since  Hved,  of  the  real  mountain  scenery 
with  which  I  have  since  been  so  familiar  I  This 
new  town  was  rather  rough  and  rocky,  with 
few  inhabitants,  and  few  objects  of  special  in- 
terest. My  employer  had  known  me  in  my 
former  factory  days.  He  was  very  kind  and 
friendly,  and  I  soon  became  much  interested  in 
my  work.  The  other  persons  employed  by  him 
were  five  girls  and  a  boy.  His  business  was 
manufacturing  twine  and  cotton  sewing-thread. 
This  was  one  of  the  first  establishments  of  the 
kind  in  the  country.  The  best  of  sea-island 
cotton  was  used,  and  excellent  articles  were 
made ;  but  the  whole  was  on  a  small  scale.  I 
superintended  this  work,  and  prepared  the 
goods  for  market.  We  all  lived  in  our  em- 
ployer's family ;  and  he  was  often  away  about 
the  country,  making  his  own  sales.  I  am  some- 
what particular  in  the  statement  of  these  facts, 
because  all  this  is  done  so  differently  now,  and 
that  the  reader  may  see  how  humble  was  the 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHr.  25 

condition  and  primitive  the  period  to  which  my 
story  belongs. 

In  that  obscure  and  lonely  place,  while  at 
work  twelve  hours  a  day,  with  many  cares  and 
responsibilities,  I  first  became  somewhat  ac- 
quainted with  the  book  world ;  and  in  this  I 
lived  more  intimately  than  with  nature  in  the 
old  farm-life.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  then 
and  there  got  access  to  books,  or  found  time  to 
read  them.  So  I  will  relate  how  it  happened. 
When  I  had  been  in  my  new  home  about  a 
month,  my  employer's  daughter  asked  me  to  go 
up  to  the  village  and  get  ajbonnet  she  had  left 
there  to  be  trimmed.  At  the  milliner's  and 
dressmaker's  little  shop,  where  I  was  sent,  I 
found  a  circulating  library  which,  it  seemed  to 
me,  had  more  books  than  I  had  supposed  the 
world  to  contain.  I  was  delighted  with  the 
discovery,  and  found  that  by  papng  a  small 
annual  subscription,  I  could  have  access  to  all 
its  treasures.  This  little  library  would  be  noth- 
ing now.  It  had  much  in  it  that  was  trashy 
then ;  but  somebody,  either  from  high  apprecia- 
tion, or  want  of  any,  had  made  it  a  present  of  a 
whole  collection  of  valuable  historical  works. 
2 


26  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

These  were  old,  dusty,  and  did  not  seem  to  be 
at  all  in  demand,  and  so  were  always  ready  at 
my  call. 

My  first  book  from  this  little  shop  was  Plu- 
tarch's Lives  of  all  the  celebrated  men  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  in  several  large  volumes.  It  was  an 
exceedingly  fortunate  selection.  I  know  not 
how  I  came  to  make  it,  but  I  have  read  nothing 
since  that  delighted  or  profited  me  more.  It 
gave  me  a  decided  and  a  strong  taste  for  bio- 
graphical and  historical  studies.  Within  the  two 
following  years,  I  read  the  whole  of  Rollin's  great 
history  of  the  ancient  world,  the  history  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  histories  of  the  various  countries  of 
Europe,  and  biographies  of  their  great  men; 
Hume  and  Smollet's  History  of  England  and 
Robertson's  America,  and  Charles  V.,  Johnson's 
lives  of  the  poets,  and,  in  fact,  almost  all  the 
standard  historical  works  of  that  period.  What 
a  world  was  here  to  be  suddenly  opened  to  a 
youth  who  had  known  only  the  poverty  and 
obscurity  of  a  little  New  England  country 
town  I 

To  the  question  how  I  found  time  for  so 
much  reading  in  an  employment  that  required 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  27 

SO  mucli  daily  labor  and  care,  I  answer,  I  became 
so  interested  in  what  I  read,  it  took  me  so  com- 
pletely out  of  the  world  in  which  I  had  been 
living,  that  I  found  rest  in  a  change  rather  than 
a  suspension  of  activity.  I  read  late  into  the 
nights.  I  read  on  Sundays.  I  read  whenever 
and  wherever  I  could  find  or  make  opportunities. 
As  overseer  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  be  seen 
reading  before  others  in  factory  hours.  So  I 
always  kept  my  books  hidden  in  the  day-time, 
in  the  cotton-room,  and  several  times  each  day, 
when  all  was  going  well,  and  my  presence  was 
not  needed,  I  disappeared,  ran  upstairs,  got 
behind  the  bales  of  cotton,  pulled  out  my  book, 
and  was  soon  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  or 
the  Nile,  among  the  isles  of  Greece,  at  Rome, 
Constantinople  or  Moscow,  in  London,  Paris, 
Spain,  or  with  Columbus  in  pursuit  of  new 
worlds.  Many  times  have  I  gone  down  to  tighten 
loose  belting,  clear  the  cards  of  cotton  seeds,  in- 
crease or  diminish  the  speed  of  the  machinery, 
or  settle  some  dispute  that  had  arisen  among  the 
operatives,  and  then  returned  to  the  old  attic 
to  hold  communion  with  Plato  or  Socrates;  to 
Demosthenes  declaiming  in  Athens,  or  Cicero 


28  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

before  the  Roman  senate ;  to  follow  Alexander 
or  Csesar  in  their  long  victorious  marches,  or 
see  them  returning  with  kings  and  queens  and 
their  long  captive  trains,  under  splendid  trium- 
phant arches,  amid  excited,  thronging,  shouting 
multitudes  that  had  come  out  to  meet  them. 

Oh,  how  charming  and  refreshing  were  those 
hours  snatched  from  labor,  and  given  to  such 
scenes  and  companions,  behind  those  old  cotton 
bales  !  Thanks,  oh,  how  many  thanks,  are  due 
for  our  many-sided  nature,  through  which  we 
are  able  to  get  so  many  lives  into  one  I  Solo- 
mon says,  "  Stolen  pleasures  are  sweet."  But  I 
am  sure  that  stolen  knowledge  is  sweeter,  and 
far  more  profitable. 

Another  reason  why  I  accomplished  so  much 
in  those  two  years  was,  that  my  hfe  was  concen- 
trated, not  frittered  away  in  social  excitements 
or  frivolous  amusements,  as  the  young  life  of  the 
present  so  generally  is.  In  this  I  do  not  take 
any  credit  to  myself.  My  choice  was  "that 
or  notliing."  It  was  all  work  and  no  play 
that  used  to  make  so  many  dull  boys.  It 
is  now  all  play  and  no  work  that  makes  so 
many  mere  triflers.     There  was  little   outside 


AN  AUTOBIOGBAPHY.  29 

of  my  daily  duties  to  interest  me  in  any 
way.  The  few  persons  with  whom  I  had  any 
intercourse,  the  dull  little  town  in  which  I  lived, 
all  my  surroundings,  were  of  the  humblest  and 
least  inspiring  character.  So  I  was  driven  to  my 
books  for  all  my  means  of  excitement  and  prog- 
ress. I  lived  alone,  and  as  the  great  problems 
of  existence,  of  time  and  eternity,  presented 
themselves  to  my  mind,  I  had  to  meet  and  solve 
them  for  myself  in  my  own  way.  Of  that  way 
all  may  learn  who  care  to  go  on  with  me  in  the 
recital  of  other  struggles,  external  and  internal. 


PART    SECOND. 


VI. 

"pOVERTY  and  labor,  factory  and  farm  life, 
churches,  schools,  and  books  have  received 
all  the  attention  that  can  here  be  given  them. 
Imperfect  in  their  influence  as  they  now  seem, 
they  were  of  great  importance  in  the  formation 
of  character ;  but  the  Bible  and  rehgion  were 
the  supreme  interests  of  society  at  that  time. 
To  leave  these  out  of  the  influences  that  formed 
New  England  Hfe  fifty  years  ago  would  be  like 
leaving  the  sun  out  of  the  solar  system.  So  we 
go  back  to  childhood  again  to  take  them  into 
these  sketches  of  a  life  which  they  so  greatly 
influenced. 

My  parents  were  members  of  the  church,  and 
religious  after  the  pattern  of  their  age.  They 
attached  much  importance  to  doctrines,  forms, 
and  ceremonies.   They  put  into  my  hands  "  The 


32  AK  AT7T0BI0GEAPHY. 

Assembly's  Catechism "  before  there  were  any 
Sunday  schools.  As  soon  as  I  could  read  at  all 
I  had  to  read  the  Bible.  These  two  books,  with 
"  Watts's  Hymns  "  and  "  The  Farmer's  Alma- 
nac," made  up  the  family  library.  When  quite 
a  child,  I  had  read  the  New  Testament  through 
several  times ;  not  because  I  was  especially  in- 
terested or  attached  any  particular  meaning  to 
its  contents,  but  because  I  was  greatly  com- 
mended by  my  parents  and  others  for  so  doing, 
and  because  I  had  nothing  else  to  read ;  for  I  do 
not  remember  having  what  is  generally  called 
"  early  piety."  I  did,  however,  very  early  begin 
to  ask  my  mother  moral  questions  about  the 
doctrines  of  the  catechism,  and  about  several 
things  that  I  read  in  the  Bible,  things  that 
seemed  arbitrary  and  unjust. 

The  reply  generally  was,  "  You  are  not  yet  old 
enough  to  understand  such  matters ;  at  another 
time  I  will  explain  them ;  "  but  the  time  never 
came,  and  I  grew  up  in  the  feeUng  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  either  in  regard  to  God  and 
man,  or  in  what  I  was  taught  of  them.  The  old 
Calvinistic  ideas  of  man's  natural  inabUity  and 
depravity,  of  God  requiring  perfection  of  such 


AK  AITTOBIOGEAPHY.  33 

a  being,  or  dooming  him  to  infinite  and  eternal 
torment  if  he  came  short  of  it ;  or,  worse  still, 
foreordaining  that  one  part  of  the  human  race 
should  be  saved,  and  the  other  lost,  without  the 
least  regard  to  what  they  might  or  might  not 
do,  —  all  this  gave  me  the  impression  that  God 
was  an  arbitrary  and  capricious  tyrant.  To  call 
such  a  being  good,  and  love  him,  was  impossible. 
It  shocked  all  the  moral  sensibilities  within  me. 
As  soon  as  I  began  to  recite  my  lessons  in  this 
catechism,  I  began  to  rebel  against  its  doctrines. 
They  seemed  to  be  in  direct  opposition  to  what 
my  mother  was  herself  daily  teaching  me  about 
moral  responsibility,  about  good  and  evil,  what 
I  had  power  to  do  and  be,  and  not  to  do  and  be. 
I  remember  thinking  how  hard  it  was  that  some 
persons  who  came  almost  up  to  the  required 
standard  should  at  the  day  of  judgment  be  sent 
away  to  eternal  misery,  without  even  a  chance 
of  improvement,  while  those  who  had  just  passed 
one  step  beyond  this  arbitrary  hne  should  re- 
ceive eternal  happiness,  and  be  subjected  to  no 
further  trial.  The  doctrines  of  heaven  and  hell 
were  thus  perfectly  shocking  to  me.  It  seemed 
so  discouraging  to  try  to  be  good.  I  might  suc- 
2*  c 


84  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ceed  in  ninety-nine  conditions,  but  failure  in  the 
hundredth  would  make  my  doom  just  as  sure  as 
if  I  had  done  nothing.  I  remember  that  one  of 
the  first  religious  questions  I  asked  my  mother 
was  concerning  this  arbitrary  nature  of  salva- 
tion. Her  answer  was  that  we  should  not  reason 
concerning  God  as  we  do  about  men,  because  he 
is  infinite,  and  things  might  be  right  for  him 
that  would  be  wrong  for  us  ;  that  the  Bible  was 
God's  holy  word,  and  we  were  to  receive  these 
doctrines  because  they  were  there  taught.  All 
this  confused  me  still  more ;  but,  of  course,  a 
little  boy  could  not  argue  a  point  Hke  this.  I 
can  now  see  why  this  confusion  increased  and 
continued  for  years.  Farther  along  in  life  I 
saw  that  my  moral  nature  was  given  me  for  the 
purpose  of  doing  just  what  my  mother  told  me 
I  should  not  do,  —  of  judging  for  myself  what 
is  right  and  good  in  itself  in  all  things,  and  so, 
through  the  development  of  these  powers,  rising 
to  a  knowledge  and  appreciation  of  infinite  wis- 
dom and  goodness. 

The  slavery  to  the  traditional  authority  of 
the  catechism,  and  superstitious  reverence  for 
the  Bible  (the  former  being  regarded  as   an 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  85 

exposition  of  the  latter),  common  to  that  period, 
formed  the  basis  of  my  religious  education. 

These  instructions  confused  my  mental  per- 
ceptions, shocked  my  spiritual  instincts,-  and 
made  religion  in  every  way  disagreeable ;  in 
fact,  the  one  great  terror  of  my  early  life.  I 
was  afraid  of  God,  of  hell,  of  life,  and  death, 
of  doing  something,  or  neglecting  to  do  some- 
thing, that  would  send  me  to  eternal  torments. 
All  the  religious  people  around  me  were  talking 
about  death  and  the  judgment,  till  all  terrible 
things  got  associated  in  my  mind  with  this 
subject.  All  the  strong  and  awful  language  of 
the  Scriptures  with  which,  under  the  circum- 
stances, I  became  so  familiar  only  increased  this 
superstitious  tendency.  I  was  afraid  of  the 
darkness,  of  graveyards,  of  being  alone  any- 
where. After  I  went  to  bed  at  night  I  used  to 
lie  awake  thinking  of  all  the  dreadful  things  to 
which  I  was  exposed,  and  that  might  happen 
to  me  at  any  moment.  I  remember  very  dis- 
tinctly a  dream  one  night,  at  this  period,  about 
the  day  of  judgment.  I  thought  it  had  come. 
As  far  as  my  vision  extended,  multitudes  beyond 
multitudes  of  the  human  family  were  gathered 


36  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

together,  with  the  most  dreadful  anxiety  ex- 
pressed in  their  countenances,  awaiting  the 
decision  of  their  eternal  destiny.  In  some  way 
the  occasion  became  associated  in  my  mind  with 
a  narrow  stairway  in  the  old  factory  where  I 
was  then  working.  These  stairs  were  so  narrow 
that  only  one  at  a  time  could  pass  up  or  down. 
There  were  doors  at  the  ends,  and  when  both 
were  shut  it  was  perfectly  dark.  All  these 
assembled  multitudes  before  me  were  to  go 
through  this  narrow,  dark  hole,  up  to  the  judg- 
ment that  was  going  on  above.  I  stood  near 
this  entrance,  and  it  soon  came  my  turn  to 
ascend.  Oh,  the  horrors  of  that  moment  I 
shall  never  forget,  groping  my  way  alone  in 
that  dark  passage,  when  only  the  next  step  was 
to  seal  my  fate  for  ever !  After  that  step  was 
taken  the  upper  door  was  opened,  and  I  stood 
on  a  small  platform  from  which  I  could  see 
heaven  and  hell,  with  the  countless  millions 
who  had  already  been  sent  to  these  final  abodes. 
On  this  same  platform  near  me  stood,  in  an' 
agony  of  suspense,  the  few  who  had  just  pre- 
ceded me.  There  was  no  opening  of  books  or 
balancing  of  accounts.     Christ,  the  awful  judge, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  &T 

stood  there  with  a  full  and  immediate  knowl- 
edge of  all  his  own.  On  a  very  small  number 
he  bestowed  a  sweet  smile  and  pointed  them  to 
heaven.  Then  changing  his  whole  aspect,  and 
pronouncing  a  dreadful  curse  upon  the  others, 
he  seized  a  large  club  that  stood  beside  him 
and  knocked  them  into  the  flaming  gulf  below. 
As  my  turn  for  judgment  cam€,  and  that  club 
was  raised  to  strike  me  down,  I  awoke  to  find 
it  all  a  dream. 

What  but  the  old  theology,  the  tone  and 
spirit  of  New  England  religious  hfe  half  a  cen- 
tury ago,  could  have  made  such  a  dream  possible 
for  a  little  boy  ? 

My  mother  used  to  say,  to  our  acquaintance, 
that  I  was  a  good  boy,  but  that  she  could  not 
get  me  interested  in  religion.  Who  can  won- 
der? Was  any  boy  ever  interested  in  such  a 
religion  except  through  his  selfish,  superstitious 
fears  ?  The  God  and  Christ  of  those  old  West- 
minster  divines  seem  to  me,  even  after  all  these 
long  years  of  study  and  experience,  the  most 
monstrous  creations  of  human  history. 


88  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


VII. 

In  this  chapter,  I  propose  to  bridge  over  the 
period,  between  the  common  traditional  religion 
of  my  childhood  -and  the  natural  religion  of  my 
youth,  for  I  cannot  say  just  when  I  had  out- 
grown the  former,  or  became  conscious  of  the 
latter.  One  is  associated  in  my  mind  with  the 
old  red  factory,  the  other  with  the  farm  life 
sketched  in  chapters  third  and  fourth.  Indeed, 
the  latter  was  not  known  to  me,  or  others,  as 
any  religion  at  all,  at  that  time,  and,  even  now, 
it  is  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  as  leading  to 
infidehty,  by  a  large  portion  of  the  Christian 
world. 

As  I  left  the  prison  life  of  the  factory,  went 
on  to  the  farm,  into  the  presence  of  nature, 
with  the  free  air  and  glorious  sunshine,  —  lay 
on  the  ground  looking  to  the  calm,  blue  heavens 
above  me,  and  thought  of  the  illimitable  spaces 
there  revealed;  or  sat  down  by  the  regular, 
ever-flowing  brook  that  meandered  through  the 


AN  AFTOBIOGEAPHY.  39 

woods  and  meadows  near  my  home,  thought 
about  time,  the  past  and  future  of  its  flowing,  I 
remember  that  I  had  in  this  way  a  sense  of  the 
infinite  and  eternal;  that  I  apprehended  the 
presence  of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  nature ;  that 
somehow  a  serene  and  jojrful  trust  gradually 
took  the  place  of  my  morbid  religious  anxieties. 

I  did  not  then  analyze  or  think  of  this  at  all 
as  religion,  but  I  know  now  that  this  spiritual 
apprehension  of  spiritual  realities,  this  reverence 
and  awe  of  the  unseen  and  unknown,  this  con- 
fidence and  joy  in  the  presence  of  nature,  this 
growing  admiration  of  its  order,  harmony,  and 
beauty,  was  the  beginning  of  all  that  is  stUl 
highest  and  best  in  me. 

The  common,  conventional,  traditional  re- 
ligion, —  the  religion  of  forms  and  fears,  — had 
not  then  lost  its  hold  on  my  imagination.  To 
me,  and  everybody  about  me,  religion  was  some- 
thing entirely  distinct  from  the  influences  just 
described.  And  of  this  there  was  a  great  revival 
in  my  neighborhood  about  this  time.  I  was  ioon 
drawn  into  the  whirlpool  of  excitement,  and 
carried  away  with  what  I  saw  and  heard  at  this 
continued   series    of   religious    meetings.     My 


40  AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

young  acquaintance  were  there,  full  of  the  most 
zealous  enthusiasm,  relating  their  "  experience," 
and  calling  upon  me  "to  come  forward,"  and 
give  them  mine.  But  though  I  tried  earnestly 
all  their  means,  I  had  no  such  experience  to 
relate.  Then  there  was  renewed  the  old  terror 
of  fate,  decrees,  and  of  those  doomed  to  be  lost. 
I  felt  that  I  might  be  one  of  them.  Oh,  how  I 
struggled,  prayed,  entreated  for  some  assurance 
to  the  contrary !  but  it  did  not  come.  Mean- 
while the  fanaticism  of  the  revival  had  exhausted 
itself,  and  its  fruits  were  of  little  practical 
value. 

About  this  period,  in  this  condition  of  things, 
there  occurred  the  events  related  in  chapter 
fifth,  and  which  changed  the  whole  mental  and 
spiritual  currents  of  my  life,  my  superintendence 
of  a  thread  factory  in  a  distant  town,  and  the 
historical  books  with  which  I  there  became 
acquainted. 

I  now  take  up  the  narrative  at  that  point, 
since  religion  is  henceforth  the  thread  that,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  unites  the  whole. 

My  employer  was  unlike  any  other  person  I 
had  ever  met.    He  had  little  mental  culture,  but 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  41 

was  strikingly  individual  in  thought  and  char- 
acter. He  seemed  to  be  emancipated  from  the 
authority  ^^nd  tyranny  of  public  opinion,  had 
come  out  from  the  influences  of  the  popular  re- 
ligion, and  hence  was  ostracised  as  an  infidel; 
but  was  a  man  of  good  sense  and  pure  hfe. 

I  had  not  been  long  in  his  family  when  he 
brought  home  some  of  the  early  Universalist 
publications  recommended  to  him  by  a  Boston 
friend.  These  he  read  with  great  interest,  and 
soon  became  a  convert  to  that  faith.  He  got 
the  celebrated  Hosea  Ballou  and  other  leaders 
of  that  denomination  to  preach  in  the  town  and 
vicinity.  They  made  his  house  their  home  on 
such  occasions ;  and  it  was  there  that  I  became 
acquainted  with  them  and  their  doctrines.  About 
this  time  I  heard  Mr.  Ballou  preach,  in  the 
simplest,  most  sensible,  and  most  affecting  man- 
ner, a  discourse  on  the  "  Prodigal  Son,"  the 
"Lost  Sheep,"  the  "Lost  Piece  of  Silver," 
which  produced  a  very  deep  and  strong  impres- 
sion on  my  mind.  This  represented  God  in  an 
entirely  njew  light,  as  the  compassionate,  loving, 
forgiving  Father  of  the  human  family,  like  our 
earthly  parents,  caring  most  for  those  who  had 


42  AN  AUTOBlOGJRAPHr. 

wandered  farthest  and  needed  most.  He  went 
home  with  me  after  meeting,  and  we  had  a  long 
and  interesting  conversation  upon  topics  con- 
nected with  the  doctrine  of  the  discourse,  and 
from  that  hour  a  new  world  began  to  dawn 
upon  my  understanding  and  my  heart.  I  be- 
came morally  and  intellectually  interested  in 
rehgious  questions.  I  found  them  occupying 
the  most  important  place  in  the  historical  works 
I  was  then  reading.  I  found  that  the  worst 
things  in  the  world  came  from  the  perversions 
of  what  were  in  themselves  highest  and  best; 
that  while  superstition  had  been  the  greatest 
curse  of  men  in  all  ages  and  nations,  religion 
was  intended  to  be  their  solace,  strength,  and 
joy.  I  thought  of  all  I  had  suffered  from  the 
false  and  gloomy  theology  then  prevalent ;  of  the 
blight  it  brought  upon  my  childhood  and  youth ; 
of  the  gloomy  clouds  it  was  casting  over  all  the 
religious  world ;  of  the  multitudes  who  were  all 
their  lifetime  under  bondage  to  the  ancient 
superstitions  of  an  angry  God  and  an  endless 
hell ;  till  I  felt  an  intense  desire  to  go  out  into 
the  world  and  everywhere  proclaim  the  new 
gospel  of  glad  tidings  of  pity  and  compassion, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  48 

of  forgiveness  and  love.  The  new  impulse 
quickened  my  whole  nature  to  the  highest  activ- 
ity, and  I  longed  for  the  means  of  that  edu- 
cation which  would  prepare  me  for  this  new 
work. 

I  was  now  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  and, 
legally,  neither  my  time  nor  wages  belonged  to 
me  till  I  should  be  twenty-one.  In  those  days 
this  legal  parental  claim  was  literally  enforced. 
I  only  had  a  bare  pittance  of  what  I  earned,  and 
could  be  taken  from  this  place  and  put  in  another 
at  any  time.  My  family  were  greatly  offended 
at  what  they  called  my  infidelity,  and  threatened 
to  take  me  home  to  avoid  the  evil  influences  by 
wliich  they  thought  me  surrounded.  What 
could  I  do  in  such  a  condition  ?  The  thought 
of  going  back  to  a  kind  of  life  I  had  so  entirely 
outgrown  seemed  perfectly  horrible.  I  was 
taken  ill  of  fever.  My  good  mother  came  to  see 
me,  and  was  in  great  distress  through  fear  that 
I  should  die  in  my  unconverted  state,  and  so  be 
lost  for  ever.  She  had  no  doubt  that  my  suffer- 
ings were  a  judgment  of  God  for  my  sin  of 
infidelity,  or  departure  from  the  true  saving 
faith,  as  I  could  easily  infer  from  some  quota- 


44  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

tions  of  scripture  which  she  used  as  delicately 
as  possible.  Yet,  when  I,  a  month  later,  in  my 
convalescence,  asked  her  why  my  good,  pious, 
invalid  sister  had  for  so  many  years  suffered  so 
much  in  so  many  ways,  her  reply  was,  "  Whom 
the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth."  In  this  and 
various  other  ways  I  early  learned  that  no  ties 
of  kindred  or  family,  no  bonds  of  nature  or 
affection,  were  so  sacred  to  men  as  their  super- 
stitious theological  dogmas.  To  go  back  to  my 
old  condition  after  tasting  the  fruits  of  knowl- 
edge, to  be  without  sympathy  from  any  quarter 
in  a  course  of  thought  and  action  that  had 
become  so  vital  to  me,  to  be  repressed  in  every 
way  and  treated  like  a  little  child  now  that  I 
had  the  thoughts  and  aspirations  of  a  man,  I 
soon  decided  was  out  of  the  question.  I  had 
more  than  taken  care  of  myself  since  eight  years 
of  age,  and  thought  it  no  robbery  to  refuse  fur- 
ther service  where  my  own  wishes  and  feelings 
were  so  little  regarded.  So  when  the  command 
came  for  me  to  return  home,  I  was  not  to  be 
found.  ,1  left  a  letter  giving  my  reasons  for 
taking  myself  away,  and  making  an  offer  for  a 
legal  release  of  my  time  for  the  next  four  years. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  46 

This  proposition  was  accepted,  and  the  money 
was  paid  as  soon  as  I  was  able  to  earn  it. 

Here,  then,  at  this  early  age,  with  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  with  only  five  dollars  in  my 
pocket,  without  seeing  a  step  of  my  future  way, 
I  started  one  morning  in  March  to  walk  twenty 
miles  into  Boston,  where  I  had  but  one  acquaint- 
ance in  all  that  great  city.  But  vigorous  youth, 
with  little  experience  and  any  strong  purpose, 
is  always  audaciously  hopeful.  I  went  to  the 
Rev.  Hosea  Ballou,  told  him  my  story,  expressed 
my  desire  for  a  better  education,  and  asked  him 
if  he  could  not  suggest  some  means  of  attaining 
it.  He  received  me  very  cordially,  wished  me 
to  stay  at  his  house  tiU  he  could  see  what  could 
be  done  ;  and  the  next  Sunday  morning  told  his 
congregation  that  they  would,  in  the  evening, 
have  an  opportunity  to  assist  a  young  man  from 
the  country,  who  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  in 
earnest,  and  whose  purpose  had  his  entire  appro- 
bation. With  that  contribution  of  about  sixty 
dollars  I  went  to  an  academy  till  the  next  win- 
ter, when  I  commenced  teaching  school.  I  con- 
tinued thLs  course  of  alternate  teaching  and  study 
for  three  years,  without  farther  assistance  from 


46  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

any  quarter.  The  forty  years  that  have  since 
passed  have  not  in  the  least  dimmed  the  recol- 
lection of  that  generous  confidence.  I  have 
often  wondered  whether  any  other  sixty  dollars 
ever  procured  more  blessings,  or  ever  made  any- 
body more  grateful.  It  is  true  that,  some  years 
after,  circumstances  occurred  which  forced  me 
to  appear  wanting  in  grateful  attachment  to 
these  friends  who  helped  me  most,  in  the  time 
of  my  greatest  need ;  but  if  those  friends  could 
have  known  what  efforts  and  sacrifices  even  this 
appearance  cost  me,  they  would  have  estimated 
all  the  more  my  appreciation  and  fidelity.  The 
highest  return  that  can  be  made  for  such  assist- 
ance is  devotion  to  truth  and  duty,  devotion  to 
principles  even  at  the  risk  of  personal  attach- 
ments. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  47 


VIII. 

In  these  last  three  years  of  learning  and 
teaching  there  was  little  that  would  now  in- 
terest the  reader  of  these  sketches ;  but  expe- 
rience in  these  New  England  district  schools, 
where  many  of  the  scholars  were  my  seniors  by 
several  years,  was  not  without  high  cost  to  my- 
self. As  a  test  of  character  I  know  of  nothing 
like  it.  You  are  "  monarch  of  all  you  survey." 
You  are  responsible  for  all  that  is  done  or  left 
undone.  You  are  to  manage,  in  the  best  way 
you  can,  the  congregated  mischievousness,  ugli- 
ness, and  stupidity  of  a  whole  district.  You  are 
to  teach  many  who  cannot,  or  will  not,  learn. 
You  are  to  govern  many  who  have  never  been 
governed  at  home.  You  are  supposed  to  be 
able  to  instruct,  interest,  and  guide  all  these 
young  minds  in  all  stages  of  their  progress. 
You  are  to  divide  your  efforts  about  equally,  in 
aU  directions,  between  the  alphabet  and  the 
stars.     Like  the  clergyman,  you  are  to  visit  all 


48  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the  families,  and  take  an  interest  in,  their  affairs. 
In  a  word,  you  are  to  be  "  all  things  to  all 
men,"  women,  and  children ;  and  while  all  this 
was  required  of  me,  the  compensation  was 
only  twenty  dollars  per  month  for  three  months 
of  the  year. 

I  remember  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday  my 
first  winter's  school  of  sixty  scholars.  Neither 
party  had  known  any  thing  of  the  other.  I 
heard  the  noise  of  many  voices  before  I  got  in 
sight  of  the  little  red  schoolhouse ;  but  as  I 
approached  it,  all  went  in,  and  in  silence  took 
their  seats.  But  how  these  young,  eager  eyes 
stared  at  me  as  I  entered  I  How  all  these 
youthful  minds  seemed  to  weigh,  measure,  and 
decide  for  or  against  me  in  a  moment ;  and  I  a 
modest,  inexperienced  youth  of  only  eighteen 
years,  and  only  nine  months  from  a  cotton  fac- 
tory. I  have  been  in  many  hard  places  since 
that  time,  have  publicly  addressed  most  distin- 
guished and  enlightened  audiences,  but  that 
first  day  as  teacher  of  this  district  school  was 
the  hardest  of  aU.  That  this  first  school  was 
not  a  failure  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  of  its 
being  continued  by  private  subscription  a  month 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  49 

after  the  public  appropriation  was  expended. 
In  a  different  town  and  in  my  third  winter's 
experience  of  this  kind,  I  took  a  school  that 
had  a  bad  reputation,  and  from  which  a  teacher 
had  recently  been  expelled.  It  was  reputed  to 
be  disorderly  and  ungovernable  in  the  highest 
degree.  There  had  been  trouble  there  for  two 
or  three  winters,  and  several  of  my  friends  ad- 
vised me  against  going  into  such  a  district. 

This,  character  of  the  school  had  led  the  com- 
mittee to  think  they  must  employ  the  hardest 
kind  of  teachers,  those  who  would  be  most 
likely  to  put  the  great,  rough  boys  under  the 
severest  discipline  and  inspire  the  greatest 
amount  of  terror.  This  system  of  government 
had  reacted  on  the  character  of  the  school,  and 
made  it  still  worse,  till  the  last  unsuccessful 
tyrant  raised  a  general  insurrection,  and  he  was 
expelled  by  being  put  out  of  one  of  the  windows. 
My  first  morning  there  was  a  time  to  be  remem- 
bered. I  said  and  did  as  little  as  possible. 
Both  parties  sat  there  studying  each  other, 
waiting  for  something  to  "  turn  up,"  or  each  for 
the  other  to  show  its  hand.  Just  before  dis- 
missing the  scholars  at  noon,  I  had  a  pleasant, 
8  s 


|»0  AN  AUTQBIOGEAPHY. 

familiar  talk  with  them,  told  them  as  gently  as 
I  could  of  the  bad  ways  into  which  they  had 
fallen,  of  the  unenviable  reputation  they  had 
acquired,  and  how  I  supposed  it  had  all  come 
about.  I  told  them  frankly  that  I  did  not 
believe  in  the  kind  of  government  to  which 
they  had  been  subjected,  that  I  had  no  faith  in 
tyranny  or  the  kind  of  fear  it  inspired,  that  I 
had  not  come  there  to  whip  or  beat,  but  to 
teach  them;  and  that  I  should  take  it  for 
granted  they  came  there  to  learn,  till  I  was 
fully  convinced  to  the  contrary ;  that  if  they 
needed  any  flogging,  it  must  be  given  them 
elsewhere,  by  their  parents  or  the  committee, 
who  had  employed  me  only  to  teach;  that  I 
should  do  the  best  I  could  for  them,  and  wanted 
them  to  help  me  make  theirs  the  best  school  in 
town ;  that  I  should  treat  them  with  this  confi- 
dence and  respect  as  long  as  possible,  and  when 
I  found  I  could  not  I  should  leave  them  ;  that 
for  no  consideration  would  I  allow  myself  to  be 
used  as  a  public  scolding  or  whipping  machine. 
This  frankness  and  confidence,  so  different 
from  any  thing  to  which  they  had  ever  been 
accustomed,  at  once  had  the  desired  effect.    It 


Air  AUTOBIOGRAPtfr.  61 

estabLshed  the  pleasantest  and  most  profitable 
relations  between  us.  Before  I  close  up  all  this 
second  part  of  my  life,  —  my  youth  with  these 
pleasant  school-teaching  days,  —  I  must  relate  a 
very  painful  event  that  occurred  where  I  was 
then  boarding,  and  which  disturbed  and  shocked 
me  more  for  the  time  than  any  I  had  hitherto 
experienced. 

There  was  a  young  and  popular  minister  of 
my  acquaintance  settled  over  the  parish  in  my 
school  district.  He  had  rooms  at  a  neighbor- 
ing hotel ;  and,  when  he  found  I  could  not 
procure  a  suitable  boarding-place,  asked  me  to 
share  his  accommodations  with  him.  I  joyfully 
accepted,  and  our  intimate  relation  was  exceed- 
ingly pleasant.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  talents, 
good  attainments,  and  high  ambition ;  was  rising 
rapidly  in  his  profession  and  in  the  estimation  of 
his  people  ;  was  to  be  married  in  a  few  months 
to  a  lady  every  way  worthy  of  his  position  and 
affections ;  and  so  had  almost  every  thing  that 
is  desirable  in  this  life  before  him.  One  very 
warm  day  towards  the  close  of  winter,  when  I 
came  from  school  at  noon,  I  found  him  sitting 
with  flushed  face  near  the  fire  and  complaining 


62  AN  ATJTOBIOGEAPHY. 

of  the  cold ;  but  as  he  had  preached  the  day 
before  I  did  not  think  of  him  as  seriously  iU, 
or  as  having  any  thing  more  than  the  influenza 
that  was  then  prevalent.  When  I  returned  in 
the  afternoon,  I  found  him  more  feverish,  and 
asked  him  to  let  me  call  a  physician.  He  re- 
plied that  he  would  the  next  morning  if  he  did 
not  feel  any  better.  I  sat  up  with  him  till  nearly 
midnight,  when  he  seemed  inclined  to  sleep.  I 
left  the  lamp  burning,  and  told  him,  as  I  lay 
down  at  his  side,  to  wake  me  if  I  could  do  any 
thing  for  him.  I  had  been  up  late  the  night 
before,  and  had  got  into  the  profoundest  slum- 
ber, when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  with  the 
most  unearthly  groan  from  the  most  unexpected 
quarter.  For  a  moment  I  was  utterly  bewil- 
dered. I  knew  not  where  I  was,  or  what  to  do. 
I  found  myself  in  total  silence  and  darkness. 
My  first  intelligent  impulse  was  to  speak  to  my 
companion.  No  answer  followed.  I  put  my 
hand  over  to  his  place ;  he  was  not  there.  I 
sprang  up,  and  as  I  passed  round  the  foot  of 
the  bed  to  go  downstairs  and  call  the  landlord 
I  stepped  on  some  object  from  which  my  naked 
foot  slipped  into  something  wet ;  and  when  I,  a 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  68 

moment  after,  returned  over  the  same  stairway 
with  a  lamp,  I  saw  my  descending  footsteps 
printed  in  blood  through  the  whole  ascent ;  and, 
as  I  entered  our  chamber,  there  on  the  floor  be- 
fore me  lay  my  dear  friend,  with  his  throat  cut 
almost  from  ear  to  ear.  The  sound  that  awak- 
ened me  so  suddenly  was  the  last  he  ever  made. 
He  had,  in  the  short  time  I  slept,  got  up,  put  on 
most  of  his  clothing,  taken  a  chair  to  step  up  to 
the  top  shelf  of  a  closet  for  an  old  razor  that  he 
had  there  thrown  aside,  blown  out  the  Ught, 
and  passed  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  where  he  com- 
mitted the  insane  deed,  and  where  I  had  stepped 
upon  his  lifeless  body.  All  this  that  takes  me 
so  long  to  relate  was  the  experience  of  a  mo- 
ment. In  the  darkness  and  silence  of  midnight 
it  so  suddenly  and  violently  shocked  my  whole 
nervous  system,  that  I  was  unable  to  do  \nj 
thing,  or  get  any  quiet,  natural  slumber,  for 
several  weeks.  It,  of  course,  caused  much  ex- 
citement at  the  time  in  his  parish,  town,  and 
whole  vicinity.  It  was  a  great  pubhc  sensation, 
and,  as  such,  was  soon  over ;  but  the  private 
griefs,  the  disappointed  hopes,  the  blighted  af- 
fections of  many  mdividuals,  to  whom  he  was 


64  AN  AITTOBIOGEAPHY. 

yery  near  and  dear,  were  top  deep  for  all  these 
long  years  to  erase.  Where  any  of  these  persons 
are  now  I  know  not ;  but  should  they  chance  to 
see  these  pages  they  will  know  who  the  writer 
is,  and  bear  witness  to  the  truth  of  this  most 
afllictive  tragedy. 


AS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  56 


IX. 


My  public  school  closing  with  the  winter,  I  went 
in  the  early  spring  to  study  my  chosen  profession 
with  a  clergyman ;  and  before  I  proceed  with 
the  movements  in  this  direction,  and  in  this 
third  part  of  my  life,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
give  my  mental  and  spiritual  status  at  this 
time. 

It  seems  to  me  now  that  I  entered  upon  the 
work  of  the  Christian  ministry  with  the  most 
vagiie  and  indefinite  ideas  of  its  nature  and 
character.  I  know  only  that  I  had  become 
emancipated  from  my  superstitious  fears,  from 
the  narrow,  degrading,  enslaving  theology  in 
which  I  was  brought  up,  and  longed  to  lift  from 
other  souls  the  burdens  that  had  so  long  op- 
pressed and  tortured  my  own,  longed  to  impart 
to  all  around  me  the  views  of  the  divine  char- 
acter and  government  that  had  done  me  so  much 
good.  I  had  no  system  of  philosophy  or  the- 
ology to  teach ;  had  only  the  intuitional  certainty 


66  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

of  the  final  salvation  of  the  whole  human  family; 
was  sure  that  if  the  Almighty  was  infinitely  wise 
and  good,  the  result  of  his  government  must  be 
good,  that  his  purpose  through  his  whole  crea- 
tion and  providence  must  be  accomplished. 
This  view  included  all  evil  in  man  and  nature, 
dispensed  with  a  personal  devil  and  an  eternal 
hell,  included  the  overcoming  of  all  evU  with 
good,  the  substitution  of  love  for  fear  in  religion, 
and  so  was  a  gospel  of  glad*  tidings  of  great  joy 
for  all  men.  In  these  views  the  Universalists 
were  then  far  in  advance  of  all  others.  They 
made  this  great  doctrine  prominent ;  they  in- 
sisted upon  it  on  all  public  occasions,  and  thus 
made  a  distinct  issue  with  all  the  old  theologies. 
Of  course  it  was  not  original  with  them.  It 
had  by  individuals  long  been  believed  and  pub- 
lished ;  but  this  was  the  first  body  of  Christians 
that  ever  planted  itself  fairly  and  squarely  upon 
it,  making  the  very  name  of  the  denomination 
express  it.  They  were  then  an  humble,  despised, 
misrepresented,  persecuted  class  of  people  ;  and 
this  opposition  aroused  them,  not  only  to  self- 
defence,  but  to  the  most  decided,  aggressive 
warfare.    They  denied  and  afl&rmed  and  were 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  57 

thoroughly  in  earnest  in  every  direction,  till 
they  commanded  a  respectful  hearing  every- 
where ;  and  in  their  recent  centennial  they 
have  shown  themselves  to  be  a  power  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  this  whole 
country. 

With  this  denomination  were  the  first  years 
of  my  ministry.  All  my  acquaintance  and 
personal  friends  were  in  it.  I  had  received 
the  kindest  attentions  from  its  prominent 
preachers,  and  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  suc- 
cess of  my  labors.  My  leaving  it,  therefore, 
at  this  early  period,  with  all  these  personal 
attachments  and  associations,  deserves  a  passing 
notice. 

It  was  a  natural,  gradual,  almost  impercep- 
tible enlargement,  rather  than  change  of  views 
that  led  to  the  separation.  I  never  was  called 
to  any  account  by  my  old  friends,  was  never 
asked  to  give  any  reasons  for  my  departure,  and 
am  happy  in  the  belief  that  there  has  been 
no  ill  feeling  on  either  side.  Our  tendencies 
were  in  different  directions.  The  difference  was 
philosophical  rather  than  theological.  Their 
strong  feeling  was  towards  denominationalism 
8* 


68  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

and  Bible  authority,  mine  towards  individ- 
ualism, —  the  authority  of  reason  and  con- 
science. 

It  somehow  came  to  my  mind  that  Univer- 
salism  and  Calvinism  were,  after  all,  essentially 
the  same  thing,  only  in  di^erent  forms ;  that 
the  question  between  these  antagonistic  parties 
was  about  the  numbers  of  those  who  were  to  be 
saved,  rather  than  about  the  principle  of  salva- 
tion. Both  appeal  to  the  Bible  as  their  au- 
thority; one  to  all  the  texts  that  could  be 
construed  one  way  for  a  part,  and  the  other  to 
all  that  could  be  interpreted  the  other  way  to 
mean  the  whole.  When  one  said,  in  language 
of  Paul,  "  In  Adam  all  died,"  the  other  an- 
swered, "  Even  so  in  Christ  shall  all  be  made 
alive ;  "  but  neither  seemed  to  have  the  slightest 
conception  of  salvation  except  through  the 
death  of  Christ.  The  questions  of  the  time 
were,  where,  when,  how  many,  and  how  long 
men  were  to  be  punished  for  their  sins,  rather 
than  about  the  principle  of  retribution  itself. 
This  seemed  to  me  an  exceedingly  shallow  mode 
of  discussing  the  subject  on  both  sides,  and 
turned    my    attention    in    another    direction, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  p9 

towards  another  kind  of  evidence.  I  saw  that 
the  Scriptures,  as  generally  used,  could  never 
settle  any  such  questions  because  all  denomi- 
nations could  draw  from  them  about  an  equal 
number  of  proof-texts  in  favor  of  their  opposite 
doctrines.  , 

At  this  time  I  had  no  acquaintance  with 
Unitarians,  but  had  become  famihar  with  their 
publications,  and  found  they  best  expressed  my 
own  thoughts  and  feelings,  Dr.  Channing's 
celebrated  Baltimore  discourse,  his  essay  on  the 
exclusive  power  of  creeds,  his  exposition  of  spir- 
itual freedom,  all  had  affected  me  more  deeply 
than  any  thiag  I  had  ever  read.  Dr.  Dewey's 
volume  on  "  the  Dignity  of  Human  Nature " 
gave  me  another  powerful  impulse  in  the  same 
direction ;  and  when  in  1835  I  left  my  old  parish 
and  moved  into  a  new,  rapidly  growing  town,  I 
formed  a  Union  Society,  composed  of  Unitarians 
and  Universahsts  in  about  equal  numbers. 
Altogether  we  were  few,  and  feeble  in  means, 
so  I  resorted  to  a  private  school  to  help  the 
cause  along,  I  worked  hard  for  small  pay,  with- 
out complaint,  because  my  heart  was  in  my 
work,  and  I  was  free  from  all  sectarian  influ-^ 


60  AIS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ences.  My  school  and  society  were  both  well 
under  way,  when  the  great  commercial  and 
financial  crish  of  1837  prostrated  the  business 
of  the  place,  and  carried  us  all  down  together ; 
or  made  it  too  difficult  with  my  increasing  ex- 
penses to  go  on  with  eithe:f.  I  then  received 
and  accepted  a  call  from  the  Unitarian  society 
in  the  place  where  I  had  spent  the  latter  part 
of  my  old  factory  life.  So  the  factory  boy  was 
not  without  honor  in  his  own  town. 

From  this  point  I  again  take  a  new  departure, 
can  go  no  farther  into  the  details  of  my  life, 
and  present  only  outlines  of  mental  processes 
and  results  through  these  last  thirty  years, — 
thirty  years  of  preparation  and  thirty  years  of 
work.  When  I  go  over  the  particulars  of  both 
periods  together,  think  of  the  different  places 
in  which  I  have  lived,  the  different  persons  I 
have  known,  the  different  scenes  and  events 
with  which  I  have  been  familiar,  the  time  seems 
so  long,  my  age  so  great,  my  conditions  so 
vaxious,  that  I  can  scarcely  think  of  myself  as 
the  same  person  through  aU.  I  sometimes 
question  whether  each  individual  may  not  in 
some  way,  in  some  degree,  have  the  experience 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  61 

of  all  individuals,  of  all  ages;  whether  I  shall 
ever  be  more  surprised  at  any  condition  of 
another  world,  than  at  several  in  which  I  have 
found  myself  in  this ;  whether  this  boy  of  ten, 
and  this  man  of  sixty,  do  not  differ  as  essentially 
as  any  other  persons  in  society.  It  is  well  for 
us  thus  to  look  at  ourselves  objectively,  at  cer- 
tain times  and  places  in  the  past,  to  weigh, 
measure,  and  gauge  our  own  personality,  just 
as  if  we  were  other  individuals ;  to  see  how  we, 
then  and  there,  looked  at  things ;  how  differ- 
ently God,  nature,  man,  society,  politics,  reli- 
gion, every  thing,  appeared  to  us ;  that  we  may 
learn  to  make  all  allowance  for  the  differences 
of  others ;  or  see  that  while  many  are  only 
where  we  formerly  were,  they  differ  from  us 
now  no  more  than  we  have  departed  from  our 
own  positions,  and  that  we  were  then  just  as 
honest  as  we  are  now.  Sincerity,  devotedness, 
integrity  of  purpose,  is  the  essential  element  in 
unity  of  character.  All  else  depends  on  differ- 
ent opportunities  and  means  of  culture.  This 
moral  unity  is  the  only  real  unity  that  seems 
possible  for  individuals,  communities,  or  nations. 
Just  as  it  connects  all  the  different  parts  or 


62  AS  ATJTOBIOGEAPHY. 

experiences  of  any  individual's  life,  it  brings 
together  all  varieties  of  persons  in  one  work; 
it  holds  multitudes  with  indissoluble  bonds  that 
would  otherwise  have  nothing  in  common,  and 
forms  the  basis  of  all  real  union  between  "  this 
world  and  that  which  is  to  come." 


PART    THIRD. 


X. 


TVrOVEMBER,  1837.  At  C,  successor  of  the 
celebrated  Dr.  B.  Parish  small  and  scat- 
tered over  the  whole  town  ;  salary,  six  hundred 
dollars ;  family,  wife  and  three  children.  Moved 
into  the  only  house  that  could  be  obtained,  and 
this  the  owner  wanted  to  sell,  and  might  want 
for  his  own  use  at  any  time  ;  so  under  this  un- 
certainty could  not  give  myself  unreservedly  to 
my  work.  And  here  I  may  as  well  speak,  once 
for  all,  of  the  greatest  trial  of  the  poor  minis- 
ter's life. 

Owing  to  the  great  number  of  small  sectarian, 
societies  in  many  of  our  towns  there  is  a  con- 
stant struggle  among  them  for  existence.  They 
try  to  rival  each  other  in  costly  churches,  and 
so  seldom  have  means  of  building  comfortable 
parsonages  for  their  ministers.     This,  with  the 


64  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

increase  of  population,  and  the  great  cost  of 
building,  causes  a  real  scarcity  of  houses  in  all 
these  country  towns.  This  I  know  from  sad 
experience,  having  moved  twenty-nine  times 
during  the  first  thirty  years  of  my  ministry.  I 
have  moved  six  times  in  four  years ;  and  twice 
have  broken  up  my  relation  to  parishes  simply 
because  I  could  find  no  place  in  which  to  put 
my  family,  or  feel  for  any  time  the  security  of  a 
home.  The  trouble  and  expense,  the  wear  and 
tear  of  furniture,  the  greater  wear  and  tear  of 
tempers  and  tastes,  of  all  the  best  feelings  that 
enter  into  the  home  of  an  intelligent,  sensitive 
family,  no  language  can  express.  When  I  think 
over  all  my  experience  of  this  kind,  of  the  many 
times  that  my  real  work  has  been  interrupted, 
my  house  made  chaotic,  my  children  changed 
&om  one  school-district  to  another,  and  all  the 
thousand  smaller  annoyances  that  attend  these 
family  revolutions,  or  this  vagrant  kind  of  life, 
I  feel  sure  religious  societies  can  have  no  idea  of 
the  misery  and  demoralization  they  are  causing 
in  this  neglect  to  provide  a  resting-place  for  those 
whose  average  term  of  service  is  now  only  two 
years.     It  must  be  from  want  of  thought  rather 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  65 

than  from  want  of  heart;  for  we  know  by  ex- 
perience that  these  societies  are  well  and  kindly- 
disposed.  They  are  mostly  made  up  of  persons 
who  themselves  know  nothing  of  the  evils  which 
we  see  so  clearly,  and  feel  so  deeply.  I  speak 
not  for  myself,  but  for  my  younger  brethren, 
when  I  say  this  condition  should  be  changed, 
or  a  more  thoughtful  compassion  exercised  to- 
wards its  victims,  —  more  excuses  made  for 
weak,  sorely  tried,  ministerial  human  nature. 

Thirty-five  or  forty  years  ago,  before  C.  had 
any  business  or  railroad  connections  with  the 
great  world,  it  had  some  very  peculiar  people  ; 
but  no  more  perhaps  than  other  towns  in  the 
same  condition.  All  over  New  England,  in  these 
remote,  out-of-the-way  places,  where  the  same 
families  have  lived  several  generations,  unaf- 
fected by  any  thing  that  could  be  called  society, 
or  public  opinion,  I  have  found  persons  who  had 
followed  out  freely  their  predominant  tenden- 
cies, till  some  one  element  of  character  over- 
shadowed and  dwarfed  all  others.  Those  most 
frequently  observed  were  such  as  might  have 
grown  naturally  out  of  the  poor,  hard  life  of 
the  early  settlers,  on  such  a  soil,  in  such  a  cli- 


i5Q  AJ!(  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

mate.  The  severe  labors  and  small  results,  the 
struggles  and  trials,  the  nice  economies  and  petty 
savings  which  were  necessary,  in  those  early 
times,  resulted  at  last  occasionally  in  horrible 
forms  of  avarice  and  selfishness,  a  monomania 
so  extreme  as  often  to  destroy  all  ties  of  kin- 
dred, family,  and  ajffection.  This  class  of  misers 
is  nearly  extinct  now,  but  in  their  day  they 
were  numerous  and  often  entertaining. 

I  had  been  at  C.  but  a  few  days  when  a  man 
appeared  at  my  door  who  wanted  to  saw  some 
wood  that  had  just  been  drawn  into  my  yard. 
He  was  one  of  the  seediest  persons  I  had  ever 
met  anywhere.  His  clothes  were  of  many  styles 
and  colors  ;  his  hat  was  made  of  pieces  of  other 
hats  that  he  had  sewed  together  with  various 
kinds  of  twine  ;  his  face  and  hands  were  dirty ; 
Ms  hair  uncut  and  uncombed;  and,  in  every 
respect,  he  was  altogether  a  most  dilapidated 
specimen  of  humanity.  I  went  out  to  show  him 
how  I  wanted  the  wood  sawed,  when  he  became 
confidential  and  began  to  tell  me  that  he  was 
not  exactly  one  of  my  parish,  but  that  his  wid- 
owed sister  was ;  and  then,  on  the  strength  of 
this,  asked  me  if  I  would  not  give  him  some 


AK  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  67 

lessons  in  grammar  and  arithmetic,  so  that  he 
could  teach  a  district  school.  I  need  not  say 
tliat  he  did  not  get  much  encouragement  in  this 
direction. 

I  afterwards  found  that  he  was  worth  several 
thousand  dollars,  yet  lived  by  himself  in  the 
most  abject  poverty  and  wretchedness ;  carried 
potatoes  in  a  basket  to  roast  for  his  dinner  at  an 
iron  furnace  where  he  worked  ;  took  a  stick  of 
wood  to  put  through  the  handle  every  night, 
under  the  pretence  of  carrying  it  home  easier,  but 
really  to  secure  the  wood ;  and  when  famished 
would  steal  from  his  poor  sister  rather  than 
spend  a  cent  of  his  own  money.  Not  at  all  dis- 
couraged by  his  first  repulse  about  the  grammar 
lessons,  he  returned  a  week  after  to  renew  the 
request.  He  said  a  good  many  years  ago  he 
had  a  school  down  in  Maine,  and  as  he  could 
not  earn  much  now,  in  the  winter  season,  he 
had  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  brush 
up  his  old  learning  and  turn  it  to  some  account. 
He  said  he  could  read  right  off  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament, but  had  no  books ;  so  he  pulled  out  of 
his  pocket  an  old  newspaper,  and  wanted  to  be- 
gin lessons  in  parsing.     He  had  marked  through 


68  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

a  paxagraph  the  nouns,  verbs,  and  other  parts 
of  speech,  and  wanted  me  to  see  whether  he  had 
got  them  right.  To  get  rid  of  him,  I  told  him 
my  time  was  precious,  and  I  should  have  to 
charge  high  for  my  lessons ;  that  applicants  for 
schools  at  the  present  time  had  to  go  before  a 
committee,  and  pass  a  severe  examination  in 
algebra  and  other  branches  of  learning  which 
were  not  required  in  his  school  days.  He  went 
away  with  a  disappointed  and  sorrowful  aspect, 
and  did  not  return ;  but  in  parting  asked  me 
what  algebra  was.  After  I  left  town,  the  doc- 
tor, who  took  my  house,  had  a  similar  experi- 
ence with  the  Same  man.  He  began  at  the 
wood-pile  and  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  book 
of  algebra  for  the  doctor  to  give  him  some  in- 
struction. He  had  not  given  up  his  idea  of 
getting  a  winter  school.  This  shows  that  he 
had  one  strong  element  of  character  besides 
avarice,  —  persistence  of  purpose.  But  I  was 
never  particularly  proud  of  my  first  student. 

Could  Dickens,  when  in  this  country,  have 
gone  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  tourists,  into 
our  small,  remote  towns,  among  our  most  pecul- 
iar people,  those  who  have  had  least  intercourse 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  69 

with  the  world ;  where  the  energy,  enterprise, 
wealth,  and  culture  have  been  drawn  away  to 
great  manufacturing  and  commercial  centres ; 
where  old  families  have  nearly  run  out,  or,  from 
the  want  of  mental  and  social  stimulus,  have  by 
certain  ruts  run  into  the  grossest  eccentricities, 
—  could  he  have  stopped  for  a  while  in  some 
rural  grocery-store,  or  common  loafing  place, 
and  heard  the  unrestrained  gossip  of  some  such 
"  sleepy  hollow,"  he  would  have  found  charac- 
ters for  more  original  and  striking  books  than 
he  had  ever  written. 

In  this  town  of  C.  my  predecessor  had  been 
remarkable  for  his  bold  reformatory  discourses ; 
and,  as  I  was  deeply  interested  in  all  the  excit- 
ing questions  of  the  time,  I  followed  up  the 
work  thus  begun,  and  was  allowed  a  greater 
freedom  of  expression  than  I  expected.  Of 
course  there  were  in  my  congregation  many 
persons  more  or  less  affected  by  the  old  Cal- 
vinistic  dogmas,  who  missed  the  old  tone  and 
phraseology  of  the  pulpit ;  one,  at  least,  who 
complained  that  I  did  not  have  enough  to  say 
about  "  a  state  of  natur'  and  a  state  of  grace  ; " 
and  another,  who,  when  told  that  I  was  a  sug- 


70  AX  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

gestive  preacher,  and  made  people  think,  an- 
swered that  she  did  not  care  for  that,  "  she 
wanted  Sunday  as  a  day  of  rest^  I  have  since 
often  thought  there  might  be  a  great  number 
of  such  persons  in  all  religious  societies,  and  that 
recently  they  were  fast  finding  a  supply  for 
their  wants.  I  have,  however,  no  reason  to 
complain  of  my  society  at  C.  It  was  the  best 
in  town,  made  up  of  all  classes,  and  really  liberal 
in  thought  and  feeling.  And  here,  in  connec- 
tion with  my  first  settlement  over  a  Unitarian 
congregation,  I  want  to  speak  particularly  of 
the  liberality  of  this  early  time. 

As  seen  through  the  light  of  these  later 
years  it  appears  to  me  greater  in  degree,  and 
better  in  kind,  than  any  we  have  since  experi- 
enced. 

Liberalism  always  seems  to  lose  its  peculiar 
characteristics  soon  after  it  gets  organized. 
Before,  it  is  broad,  general,  progressive.  It  is  a 
universal  principle,  an  all-pervading  spirit ;  after 
it  becomes  a  popular  ralljdng  cry  for  parties  and 
sects,  or  gets  imprisoned  in  their  platfonns  and 
creeds,  it  practically  amounts  to  nothing.  It 
often  takes  the  character  of  a  Jesuitical  expe- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  71 

diency.  Men  are  then  liberal  only  with  refer- 
ence to  the  interests  of  their  organization. 
While  it  is  a  spirit,  it  is  general ;  when  it  is 
organized,  it  becomes  special.  Just  as  we  often 
see  persons  whose  liberality  reminds  us  of  Jacob's 
ringed,  streaked,  and  spotted  cattle.  It  is  only 
skin-deep,  and  there  is  not  enough  of  it  to  cover 
the  skin  ;  so  they  are  liberal  and  progressive 
only  in  spots  and  streaks.  Now  the  early  liber- 
ality of  these  New  England  churches  was  a 
principle,  a  spirit,  rather  than  any  system  of 
doctrines ;  and  it  is  yet  an  open  question 
whether  the  organization  of  the  spirit  under  a 
particular  name  has  advanced  or  retarded  the 
development  of  that  spirit.  Such  an  organiza- 
tion was  then  opposed  by  a  large  number  of 
our  best  and  most  prominent  men  ;  and  they 
never  allowed  themselves  or  their  churches  to 
be  called  by  its  name.  Many  societies  took  it 
by  bare  majorities,  and  would  have  been  just  as 
liberal  without  it  as  with  it.  The  leaders  would 
have  led  in  the  same  direction  all  who  were 
ready  to  follow,  and  have  led  no  more.  So  we 
may  have  lost  on  one  side  as  much  as  we  have 
gained  on  the  other.     The  spirit  itself  is  better 


72  AS  AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

than  any  of  its  forms  or  names,  because  it  is 
then  always  ready  for  reforms  and  reunions. 
It  is  in  the  liberal  spirit,  rather  than  in  any 
liberal  theology,  that  real  mental  and  spiritual 
freedom  is  found. 

In  the  early  period  to  which  I  now  refer,  I 
found  this  spirit  in  the  liberal  societies,  in  their 
literature,  in  all  their  modes  of  thought  and 
feeling ;  and  this,  to  me,  was  their  chief  attrac- 
tion. I  received  this  impression  from  Chan- 
ning,  Ware,  Dewey,  Walker,  and  many  others 
of  their  time.  I  attended  their  conferences,  and 
there  heard  the  freest  and  boldest  discussions 
of  all  the  prevalent  exciting  topics,  and  remem- 
ber distinctly  what  clear  conceptions  they  had, 
and  what  solemn  warnings  they  gave,  of  the 
dangers  of  shibboleths,  creeds,  and  aU  kinds  of 
theological  tests  and  exclusiions.  It  was  in  the 
school  of  this  broad  church,  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  this  free,  liberal  spirit,  that  I  preached 
on  all  the  subjects  of  general  interest,  in  my' 
own  and  neighboring  pulpits,  without  anybody, 
to  molest  or  make  me  afraid.  I  therefore  speak-t 
from  experience  when  I  say  that  early  New 
England  Unitarianism  was  a  spirit,  rather  than 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  78 

a  dogma  or  theology.     As  a  spirit  it  gained  all 
its  conquests. 

I  remained  at  C.  two  years,  left  in  kind  and 
friendly  relations  with  all,  and  have  often  re- 
turned to  visit  and  preach  in  the  dear  old  town 
of  such  early  and  various  associations.  I  was 
obliged  to  move  twice  the  last  year,  and  moved 
away  because  I  could  get  but  half  a  house,  and 
that  not  fit  for  winter  use.  I  began  this  chapter 
with  moving,  and  am  now  ready  to  move  on  to 
another. 


74  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


XI. 


Here  I  begin  without  time  or  place,  because  a 
minister  without  a  parish  is  nowhere  and  of  no 
account.  For  nearly  one  year  this  was  my  con- 
dition. I  preached  in  various  places,  had  a  large 
and  valuable  experience,  but  at  great  cost  to 
soul  and  body.  How  distinctly  I  remember  the 
long,  expensive,  disagreeable  stage  rides,  in  sum- 
mer's heat  and  winter's  cold,  the  long  separa- 
tions from  my  family,  the  breaking  up  of  my 
studious  habits,  the  chaos  and  discomfort,  all 
the  disappointments  and  trials  of  such  a  life  ! 
Deducting  the  few  Sundays  unemployed,  I  re- 
ceived for  this  whole  year  of  such  service  less 
than  four  hundred  dollars  for  the  support  of  a 
family,  to  which  another  member  had  this  year 
been  added.  Does  any  reader  wonder  why  I 
did  not  sooner  get  a  call  or  leave  so  unpromising 
a  profession?  The  shortest  answer  that  can 
here  be  given  is,  that  many  wiser  and  better 
men  have  persevered  under  greater  diflBiculties, 


A3S"  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  75' 

and  have  felt  impulses  from  within  stronger 
than  any  from  without. 

I  went  among  these  societies  unknown,  with- 
out any  denominational  support  or  sympathy ; 
and  when  they  found  that  I  had  not  come 
through  Cambridge,  but  through  the  Universal- 
ists,  against  whom  the  prejudice  was  then  much 
stronger  than  now,  it  was  everywhere  brought 
to  bear  against  me.  Indeed,  one  of  my  greatest 
trials  was  the  want  of  attention  or  sympathy 
from  the  denomination  into  which  I  had  come 
at  the  sacrifice  of  all  my  old  acquaintances  and 
friends.  Again,  I  had  lived  so  much  alone,  was 
so  little  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  world, 
as  to  retain  the  childish  impression  that  truth 
and  truthfulness  were  very  precious ;  that  truth, 
especially  religious  truth,  was  the  very  bread  of 
life  for  which  all  were  hungering  and  searching ; 
that  I  had  only  to  present  it  in  the  clearest  and 
most  forcible  manner  to  meet  this  great  popular 
want. 

Could  there  have  been  a  greater  mistake  ?  Is 
there  still  any  greater  obstacle  to  popular  suc- 
cess in  the  ministry?  In  my  simplicity  I  then 
thought  the  light  and  life  so  precious  to  me  I 


7ti  AK  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

could  easily  dispense  to  others  ;  but  I  soon 
found  that  real  truth  in  religion  was  the  very 
thing  that  most  people  did  not  want,  and  were 
determined  not  to  have.  I  had  made  too  little 
allowance  for  prejudice  and  wilfulness,  for  mys- 
tical, dogmatic,  ecclesiastical  assumption,  for 
religious  indifference,  sect^arian  complacency,  or 
any  of  the  numerous  imperfections  of  society. 
I  supposed  the  people  who  made  up  our  most 
advanced  body  were  highly  enlightened,  and 
wanted  their  peculiar  views  brought  out  with 
great  distinctness ;  that  religion  was  with  them 
a  principle,  rather  than  a  sentiment  or  feeling. 
I,  therefore,  preached  "  as  unto  wise  men."  It 
was  a  mistake,  but  one  that  I  have  not  yet  fully 
corrected.  I  did  not  know  then  that  indefinite- 
ness  was  as  important  in  religion  as  in  politics, 
in  Church  as  in  State. 

About  this  period  there  was  great  dulness 
and  reaction  in  our  churches.  Their  members 
got  tired  of  controversy  and  doctrinal  preaching, 
outgrew  the  old  questions,  obtained  a  desirable 
and  most  respectable  social  position,  and  de- 
manded rest.  Doctrines  were  ignored,  and 
j)ractical,  or  rather  sentimental  and  preceptive 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  77 

preaching  required.  Under  this  order  of  things 
our  societies  declined ;  or,  if  they  did  not  de- 
crease in  numbers,  they  became  indifferent  and 
paralyzed. 

A  generation  had  grown  up  who  at  last  began 
to  ask  what  Unitarians  did  specially  believe ; 
or  rather  why  all  Christendom  "  left  them  out 
in  the  cold."  So  this  torpor  was  an  exceptional 
state,  and  did  not  long  continue.  It  was  broken 
up  by  what  was  called  the  Transcendental  move- 
ment, —  ethical  and  philosophical,  taking  the 
place  of  the  old  theological  or  doctrinal  ques- 
tions. Here  again  we  became  leaders  of  thought 
and  progress,  and  found  life  and  vigor  in  pro- 
portion as  we  were  true  to  this  advanced  posi- 
tion. But  we  did  not  gain  it  without  a  great 
struggle  or  conflict  among  ourselves.  This 
long  and  indefinite  term,  "  transcendentalism," 
greatly  disturbed  and  frightened  many  persons, 
and  the  truths  it  represented  were  very  injudi- 
ciously and  extravagantly  presented  by  some  of 
its  advocates ;  but  the  effort  was  not  lost.  It 
put  us  forward  in  the  right  direction.  We 
adopted  all  that  was  vital  in  it,  and  it  has  done 
us  immense  good.     All   the  best  thought  or 


78  AK  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

literature  of  the  present  time  has  grown  out  of 
it.  It  has  opened  to  us  the  highest  regions  of 
spiritual  life  ;  has  shown  us  how  much  more  we 
can  know  through  the  reason^  the  inner  light, 
the  spirit's  discernment,  than  by  reasoning.  In 
other  words,  it  has  shown  us  how  much  more 
we  can  apprehend  than  comprehend.  It  has  given 
us  positive  convictions  on  things  that  transcend 
the  evidence  of  the  senses  and  the  understand- 
ing. It  has  shown  us  whole  realms  of  truth 
which  are  more  open  to  spiritual  instincts  than 
to  intellectual  development.  This  controversy 
was  at  its  height  about  the  time  of  my  vagrant 
ministry,  and,  as  I  was  deeply  interested  in  it, 
it  had  much  to  do  with  my  unsettled  condition. 
Through  this  a  new  spirit  had  arisen  among  us. 
Opposition  to  each  other  often  took  the  place 
of  opposition  to  the  old  common  enemy.  Em- 
erson, Ripley,  and  younger  men  from  several 
Cambridge  classes,  left  the  ministry  in  conse- 
quence of  this  disturbance.  The  transition  here 
traced  is  all-important  in  the  life  here  sketched, 
because  my  whole  mental  and  spiritual  nature 
was  excited  to  the  highest  activity  by  the  great 
questions  which  it  presented. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  79 

At  last  I  was  invited  to  preach  at  R.  one  year, 
moved  my  family  there,  and  stayed  more  than 
two ;  but  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  be  obliged 
to  move  into  another  house  before  the  end  of 
the  first  year.  R.  was  one  of  the  oldest  towns 
in  Massachusetts,  the  society  the  first  parish, 
the  meeting-house  about  the  last  of  its  kind  ; 
and  the  people,  though  not  revolutionary  in 
their  character  or  opinions,  belonged  to  what  is 
called  the  revolutionary  period.  They  gloried 
in  the  part  their  fathers  took  in  that  work  ; 
they  built  a  monument  to  commemorate  their 
heroic  deeds  in  that  early  struggle,  and  never 
seemed  to  think  that  any  thing  more  was  neces- 
sary. 

This  parish,  though  large  and  wealthy,  had  a 
fund,  the  interest  of  which  more  than  paid  all 
its  expenses.  Yet  they  allowed  me  only  eight 
hundred  dollars  for  my  services.  I  say  this,  not 
as  complaining,  but  explaining.  I  put  it  down 
as  all  the  effect  of  the  monument  and  the 
fuml.  A  large  experience  in  other  places  con- 
firms the  impression  that  a  complacent  glorying 
in  what  ancestors  have  done  is  not  favorable 
to  progress ;  and  that  what  people  do  not  pay 


80  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

for,   even    in    religious    matters,    they  do   not 
care  for. 

Through  these  long-continued  evil  influences 
this  old  parish  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  chronic 
indifference.  Three  other  societies  had  gone 
out  from  it,  yet  retained  their  legal  connection 
with  it,  hoping  to  get  each  a  part  of  this  first 
parish  fund.  They  continued  to  exercise  the 
right  of  voting,  and  so  the  trustees  could  not 
settle  a  minister,  but  only  hire  for  an  indefi- 
nite time.  With  these  and  many  other  circum- 
stances so  much  against  me,  I  commenced  my 
labors.  I  worked  hard  in  many  ways,  was  on 
the  school  committee,  held  temperance  talks  in 
the  several  districts,  walked  all  over  the  large 
town  to  make  parish  calls,  and  on  ministerial 
exchanges  in  neighboring  towns ;  founded  a 
parish  and  Sunday-school  library :  and  whatever 
I  found  to  do  for  the  public  I  did  with  all  my 
might.  In  regard  to  my  Sunday  services  I  know 
that  I  was  very  much  in  earnest,  that  my  con- 
gregation increased,  and  that  I  had  in  it  a  few 
noble  sympathetic  souls  to  cheer  and  help  me. 
Here  I  would  gladly  say  no  more  of  this  R. 
life,  or  would  commence  a  new  sketch  in  a  new 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  81 

place  ;  but  truth  and  duty  require  me  to  go  on 
to  my  failure  and  its  causes. 

About  this  time  the  public  mind  was  greatly 
excited  in  regard  to  temperance  and  anti-slavery 
questions;  but  I  well  remember  that  I  was  not 
excited  by  them.  They  were  nothing  new  to 
me.  My  name  may  be  found  on  the  subscription 
list  of  the  first  anti-slavery  paper  ever  published, 
—  "  The  Cradle  of  Liberty ;  "  and  as  to  the  tem- 
perance cause,  I  had  many  years  before  given  a 
lecture  to  the  first  society  ever  formed  in  the 
State  for  its  promotion  :  so  was  not  in  a  condition 
to  be  surprised  into  any  extravagance  of  speech 
or  action  in  these  directions. 

This  town  of  R.  was  not  so  intemperate  itself 
as  some  others,  but  it  was  the  centre  of  the 
traffic  for  several  neighboring  towns.  It  was 
what,  in  the  common  phrase  of  the  time,  was 
called  "  a  rum-hole."  Now  I  had  in  my  society 
two  remarkable  persons :  one,  a  deacon  of  the 
church ;  the  other,  the  principal  of  a  celebrated 
school,  —  God-fearing,  truth-loving,  humane, 
noble  men,  after  the  type  of  the  old  Puritan, 
without  any  of  the  narrowness  or  bigotry  asso- 
ciated with  this  name.  These  men  were  inti- 
4*  p 


82  AN  ATJTOBIOGEAPHY. 

mately  associated  with  me  in  an  effort  to  change 
the  character  and  reputation  of  this  town.  The 
opposition  of  all  whose  appetites  and  interests 
were  the  other  way  was  manifested  in  proportion 
to  our  success ;  and  of  course  the  public  peace 
began  to  be  disturbed. 

At  last  this  deacon  said,  at  a  church  meeting, 
that  he  could  not  conscientiously  or  consistently 
go  to  the  stores  to  buy  for  the  church  what  he 
was  so  greatly  opposed  to  for  other  purposes. 
It  was  at  the  time  the  Washingtonians  were 
reclaiming  so  many  drunkards ;  and  he  gave 
instances  where  men  who,  when  thus  reformed, 
had  joined  churohes,  and  had  fallen  back  through 
the  old  appetite  aroused  by  the  wine-cup  at  the 
communion.  He  asked  the  brethren  to  excuse 
him  from  its  further  use  on  such  occasions. 
This  brought  the  whole  matter  at  once  to  a 
crisis. 

Such  an  innovation  could  not  be  tolerated  in 
such  a  place.  By  an  overwhelming  vote  he  was 
forced  to  resign  his  office.  One  member  said, 
in  the  discussion,  that  we  ought  to  use  wine  for 
its  color,  it  so  resembled  the  blood  of  Christ. 
I  replied,  that,  if  we  were  going  to  be  as  literal 


AIT  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  83 

as  this,  we  ought  to  hold  our  communion  in 
some  upper  room,  and  use  only  unleavened 
bread.  This  action,  though  of  little  importance 
in  itself,  threw  the  influence  of  the  church  all  in 
the  wrong  direction,  and  caused  many  of  its  best 
friends  to  hang  their  heads  in  shame.  Various 
persons  were  afterward  chosen  to  fill  the  office 
of  deacon,  but  all  declined.  One  at  last, 
I  remember,  a  very  meek  man,  was  disposed 
to  accept  ;  but  his  bright,  intelligent  wife 
told  him  if  he  did  she  would  seek  a  divorce 
from  him.  How  the  matter  was  settled  I  do 
not  know ;  but  for  several  months  a  deacon 
was  borrowed  from  another  church  in  the 
vicinity. 

In  connection  with  this  I  would  here  say  that 
the  chief  man  in  my  parish  was  chairman  of  the 
board  of  trustees  for  the  parish  fund,  and  of 
the  board  of  selectmen  of  the  town,  and  an  aspi- 
rant for  the  State  Legislature.  His  income  was 
largely  derived  from  buildings  used  for  the 
liquor  traffic,  and  his  influence  was  bad  in 
many  ways,  although  he  tried  hard  to  keep  on 
both  sides  of  all  exciting  topics.  Just  before 
the  State  election  he  asked  me  if  I  ever  voted. 


84  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Certainly,  I  said,  always ;  I  considered  it  just  as 
much  the  duty  of  a  clergyman  to  vote  as  for  any 
other  man.  He  expressed  great  satisfaction  at 
my  reply,  evidently  supposing  that  I  would  vote 
for  him  to  represent  the  town.  The  next  Mon- 
day, standing  at  the  voting  place,  he  saw  me 
vote  for  another  man .  I  soon  perceived  that 
I  was  doomed  never  to  have  his  forgiveness. 
He  had  control  of  the  fund,  and  I  was  at  his 
mercy.  But  how  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  Was 
I  to  pull  down  in  one  way  all  I  was  trying  to 
build  up  in  another  ? 

My  readers  may  be  assured  that  I  did  not  as 
a  minister  make  a  specialty  of  this  subject  to 
the  exclusion  of  any  common  pulpit  subjects. 
Af  that  time  I  was  deeply  interested  in  ethical 
and  spiritual  questions  ;  and  as  I  now  read 
over  the  sermons  of  those  two  years,  I  am 
surprised  at  their  great  variety  and  moderate 
tone. 

A  little  later  came  my  last  unpardonable 
offence.  A  Virginian  fugitive  slave  was  arrested 
in  Boston  by  his  master's  sympathizers,  and  put 
in  Boston  jail  for  safe  keeping  till  his  owner 
should  find  it  convenient  to  take  him  away. 


AN  ATJTOBIOGEAPHY.  86 

During  the  week  lie  was  thus  in  prison  I  told 
some  of  my  parishioners  that  I  intended  to  make 
slavery  the  subject  of  discourse  the  next  Sunday. 
They  advised  me  against  such  a  course,  and  said 
the  people  were  not  interested  in  it.  I  replied 
if  they  were  not  it  was  high  time  they  were ; 
and  at  the  close  of  the  morning  service  gave 
notice  of  it  for  the  afternoon.  I  have  that  ser- 
mon now,  and  am  proud  of  it.  Much  that  was 
then  prophecy  has  since  become  history ;  and 
when  South  Carolina  seceded  from  the  Union, 
and  the  first  rebel  gun  was  fired  on  Fort  Sumter, 
I  at  once  thought  of  the  seceders  who  went  out 
of  my  congregation  that  afternoon,  slamming 
their  pew  doors  behind  them.  I  heard  the  sound 
of  that  cannon  as  the  echo  of  those  banging 
doors. 

Two  days  after  this  the  trustees  waited  upon 
me  with  the  request  that  I  would  supply  the 
pulpit  by  exchanges  during  the  term  for  which 
I  had  been  engaged  by  them.  In  other  words, 
that  I  would  not  go  into  their  pulpit  again.  It 
was  mid-winter,  I  had  sickness  in  my  family, 
could  get  no  exchange  for  the  next  Sunday,  and 
so  was  obliged  to  be  idle  and  give  my  small  pit- 


86  AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

tance  to  another.  My  only  rich  relation  pro- 
nounced me  a  fool  for  quarreling  with  my 
"  bread  and  butter  ;  "  and  with  the  great  public, 
who  neither  knew  nor  cared  for  me,  or  the 
causes  of  the  separation,  it  gave  me  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  "  a  violent  abolitionist."  I  had 
a  new  parish  to  seek,  and  this  was  not  then 
a  favorable  introduction  anywhere.  How  this 
period  was  passed  cannot  now  be  told,  —  I 
thought  I  had  seen  many  hard  times  before,  but 
now,  having  a  larger  family  to  care  for  and  sup- 
port, I  remembered  my  former  experience  of 
candidating,  and  shrank  from  its  repetition  with 
horror.  I  wondered  if  anybody  ever  thought 
of  the  terrible  temptations  to  silence  and  sham 
often  presented  and  long  continued  by  this 
mode  of  treating  ministers.  We  may  talk  as 
much  as  we  please  about  putting  character 
above  opinion.  It  is  not  done  anywhere  yet 
to  any  extent.  If  I  had  been  an  angel  from 
heaven,  or  the  greatest  sinner  on  earth,  it 
would  have  made  no  difference  in  this  case.  I 
was  an  abolitionist,  and  must  go.  This  was  the 
mad-dog  cry  of  the  time,  and  everybody  must 
run  away  from  me  or  make  me  run. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  87 

Reader,!  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  sheepish 
look  of  those  trustees  as  they  came  to  my  house 
on  this  errand,  the  chairman  specially  smiling 
and  polite.  After  making  his  request,  he  hoped 
I  would  not  think  the  separation  required  was 
wholly  on  account  of  the  sermon  of  last  Sun- 
day. Oh,  no !  I  knew  better  than  that,  and  so 
did  he.  It  was  only  the  occasion,  the  consum- 
mation of  causes.  But  I  asked,  as  if  I  was  sur- 
prised that  there  could  be  any  other,  what  these 
other  complaints  were.  Mr.  C.  replied  that  it 
had  been  noticed  I  did  not  often  read,  or  take 
texts,  from  the  Old  Testament ;  that  I  did  not 
preach  about  sin  in  general,  or  abstract  sin,  as 
others  did,  but,  by  special  applications  to  present 
times  and  occasions,  kept  the  parish  in  a  fer- 
ment ;  that  it  would  not  do  to  be  so  particular. 
The  people  would  not  bear  it.  Then  it  was  I 
thought  of  a  new  classification  of  men  :  those 
who  knew  what  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  those 
who  did  not.  They  went  away  graciously  as 
they  came.  They  have  aU  gone  to  another 
world  now,  but  I  do  not  believe  they  will  care 
to  see  me  again  anywhere.  Personally  I  never 
had  the  slightest  ill  feeling  towards  them.    They 


88  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

were  only  representatives  of  the  worldly,  expe- 
dient spirit  of  the  time,  aggravated  in  this  place 
by  the  combined  influences  of  the  monument  and 
the  fund. 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  89" 


XII. 

My  next  location  was  B.,  twelve  miles  from  R. 
Society  small,  poor,  and  scattered;  meeting- 
house old,  large,  and  uncomfortable ;  pulpit 
free ;  people  kind,  generous,  sympathetic,  and 
appreciating ;  salary  six  hundred  dollars,  a  good 
parsonage,  and  fuel.  During  my  residence  here 
my  congregation  increased,  new  interest  was  felt 
in  all  parish  affairs,  the  old  meeting-house  was 
remodeled,  and  after  this  year  of  trial  I  was 
invited  to  a  permanent  settlement  with  an  in- 
crease of  salary.  Before  going  to  B.  I  had 
preached  as  a  candidate  at  N.  for  several  weeks. 
More  than  a  year  passed,  when  a  gentleman 
came  to  my  house  whom  I  had  seen  before,  but 
could  not  think  when  or  where,  and  said,  "Our 
society  held  a  meeting  last  week,  and  voted 
unanimously  to  give  you  a  call.  I  have  come 
to  urge  your  acceptance."  I  found  he  was  from 
N.,  where  to  my  surprise,  after  all  this  long 
period  of  hearing  candidates,  I  was  thus  remem- 


90  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

bered.  I  was  strongly  inclined  to  remain  at  B., 
but  knew  I  should  burden  my  friends  there  with 
my  large  family,  so  declined  their  call "  and 
accepted  this  of  N.,  regretting  to  leave  a  place 
where  I  had  received  so  many  kind  attentions ; 
but  time  and  distance  do  not  change  such  rela- 
tions as  we  felt  in  our  minds  and  hearts.  I  have 
loved  these  people,  and  beheve  they  have  loved 
me,  ever  since  we  thus  parted. 

This  new  field  of  labor  was  very  peculiar  in 
many  ways,  and  thus  very  interesting.  Its  sit- 
uation, its  business,  its  character, — all  were 
unlike  any  thing  I  had  before  known.  It  was  a 
large  commercial  place,  with  ninety  ships  and 
ten  thousand  inhabitants.  My  society  was 
large,  rich,  fashionable,  and  yet  not  afraid  to 
choose  an  obscure,  unfashionable  minister,  one 
of  the  hated  "  abolitionists "  who  were  then 
greatly  disturbing  the  public  peace.  This  was 
owing  partly  to  their  isolated  condition,  but 
mostly  to  the  fact  that  the  original,  long-con- 
tinued, and  still  predominant  influence  in  the 
town  was  Quakerism.  My  call  was  from  the 
congregation,  rather  than  from  a  few  pew- 
owners.     I  preached  my  own  installation  ser- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  91 

mon ;  or,  rather,  devoted  my  first  discourse  to 
the  principles  and  purposes  which  were  to  unite 
us  in  our  work. 

Here  I  worked  on  for  nearly  seven  years, 
preaching  two  sermons  every  Sunday.  This, 
with  all  my  other  cares  and  duties,  my  nearest 
exchange  being  sixty  miles  distant,  my  congre- 
gation too  intelligent  and  thoughtful  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  commonplaces  of  the  pulpit, 
of  course  made  my  labors  and  responsibilities 
very  great ;  but  these  years  of  hardest  work 
were  the  best  and  happiest  years  of  my  life.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  felt  at  home  any- 
where. The  meeting-house  was  remodeled,  the 
interior  made  very  simple  and  beautiful,  a  vestry 
built,  the  Sunday  school  became  prosperous,  a 
large  audience  assembled  to  hear  me  morning 
and  evening,  and  under  such  circumstances  aU 
that  was  in  me  was  brought  out  to  the  highest 
advantage,  and  found  its  highest  sphere  of 
activity. 

While  here,  I  published  several  discourses  on 
the  topics  of  the  time ;  one  in  pamphlet,  and 
others  in  different  papers  and  periodicals-.  The 
pamphlet  got  into  some  of  the  reform  papers 


92  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

here,  and  was  republished  in  the  same  way  in 
England.  Its  subject  was  the  connection  of 
religion  and  life ;  or  the  relations  of  modem 
Christianity  to  modern  society.  This  was 
twenty-eight  years  ago,  and  yet  I  have  in  all 
these  years  seen  no  reason  to  modify  those  state- 
ments, or  change  a  word  of  that  testimony. 

This  was  a  period  of  great  awakening  and 
excitement  on  almost  all  moral,  social,  political, 
and  religious  affairs ;  but  I  was  so  far  away 
from  the  centres  of  these  new  movements  that 
they  seldom  disturbed  me  or  my  parish.  Not 
that  we  were  stupid,  unimpressible,  or  "  behind 
the  times."  We  were  growing  on  a  different 
vine,  from  a  different  root.  "  Parkerism,"  the 
new  horror  of  conservatism,  did  not  upset  us, 
because  we  had  read  Plato,  Montaigne,  Fox, 
Woolman,  Emerson,  and  the  Transcendental- 
ists.  Intelligent  Quakers  saw  nothing  new  in 
it.  They  had  for  more  than  a  century  borne 
testimony  to  that  inner  light  that  is  ready,  under 
proper  conditions,  to  enlighten  "  every  man  that 
cometh  into  the  world."  They  plead  for  the 
divinity  of  humanity  in  the  earliest  efforts  to 
abolish  the  slave  trade.     They  first  took  care 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  93 

of  all  tlieir  poor,  first  practically  and  publicly 
acknowledged  the  rights  of  woman,  and  almost 
all  the  reforms  of  this  reforming  time  date  back 
to  these  real  Protestants  of  Protestantism. 
They  protested  against  the  worldliness  and 
timidity  of  the  church  and  clergy,  against  their 
pretentious  garments  and  titles,  against  all  their 
formal  ecclesiasticism  and  sectarian  machinery, 
with  as  much  vehemence  as  Parker  or  his  friends 
ever  did.  But  they  were  obscure,  had  no  effec- 
tive organization,  and  the  world  was  not  ready  for 
them.  They  may  have  fallen  into  routine, 
formality,  and  decline,  but  their  principles  and 
spirit  still  live  in  other  and  later  forms.  People 
who  are  not  familiar  with  the  history  and  liter- 
ature of  other  times  are  not  in  the  condition 
rightly  to  estimate  their  own.  They  greatly 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  new  utterances 
and  organizations.  They  do  not  see  the  con- 
nections between  the  new  word  and  the  old 
thought.  Now  those  who  had  been  trained  in 
Quakerism  were  not  so  likely  to  be  shocked  with 
a  transcendental  philosophy  or  a  rationalistic 
religion.  Those  who  had  been  taught  the  doc- 
trine of  the  inner  light  already  believed  in  a 


94  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

present  and  perpetual  divine  inspiration  and 
guidance. 

So  while  the  Parker  controversy  was  raging 
at  its  height  in  Boston  and  vicinity  we  seldom 
heard  it  spoken  of  at  our  remote  portion  of  the 
State. 

At  this  time  I  preached  a  discourse  on  the  per- 
sonal influence  of  Jesus,  as  an  explanation  of  a 
certain  class  of  wonderful  works  imputed  to 
him  by  the  evangelists,  without  going  at  all  into 
the  general  question  of  miracles.  I  thought 
then,  and  think  still,  that  it  was  one  of  the  best 
I  ever  wrote.  The  best  judges  of  such  matters 
in  my  parish  urged  me  to  publish  it,  and,  when 
I  declined,  said,  "  Preach  it  to  other  societies 
when  you  have  an  opportunity."  Soon  after  1 
was  invited  to  supply  a  vacant  pulpit  in  Boston 
for  two  Sundays,  and  without  the  least  thought 
of  entering  into  any  thing  of  a  controversial 
character  I  preached  this  for  my  first  sermon 
there.  The  excitement  it  caused  was  a  great 
surprise  to  me.  The  same  day  I  received  an 
angry  letter  from  the  committee  of  this  society, 
from  which  I  extract  the  following  gentle  speci- 
mens :  — 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  95 

"  We  heard  with  deep  regret  and  surprise  the  sen- 
timents and  opinions  expressed  in  your  sennon  in 
our  pulpit  this  morning.  We  cannot  suppose  that 
you  intended  to  insult  us  or  the  society  for  whom 
we  act;  but  knowing  as  you  must  that  your  view  of 
the  miracles  of  the  New  Testament  is  considered  by 
all  Christian  societies  as  subversive  of  Christianity, 
and  utterly  destructive  of  the  only  true  foundation 
of  Christian  faith,  it  is  not  easy  to  undei-stand  upon 
what  principle  you  could  have  selected  such  a  sermon 
to  be  preached  to  us.  .  .  .  You  can  preach  as  you 
please  to  your  own  people.  But  we  cannot  view  it 
as  consistent  with  good  taste  or  good  manners  to 
preach  upon  invitation  to  a  neighboring  society  doc- 
trines and  opinions  which  you  could  not  fail  to  know 
would  be,  not  only  offensive  and  disagreeable,  but 
which  would  be  considered  as  highly  injurious  to  the 
cause  of  Christianity.  .  .  .  Impressed  with  these 
sentiments,  you  will  permit  us  to  say  that  we  have 
no  wish  to  abrogate  the  agreement  made  with  you 
to  supply  our  pulpit  for  two  Sundays ;  but  we  hope 
it  may  be  in  your  power  to  substitute  in  your  place 
in  our  pulpit  some  other  minister,  whose  sentiments 
are  known  to  be  in  accordance  with  those  of  our 
denomination  generally,  to  preach  to  us  on  the  next 
Sunday." 

I  must  here  put  the  date  of  this  official  docu- 
ment, "  Boston,  Sept.  17,  1848,"  that  no   one 


96  AN  ATJTOBIOGRAPHT. 

may  now  suppose  it  was  in  "  the  dark  ages,"  or 
at  a  great  distance  from  "  the  Hub  "of  all 
enlightenment  and  liberality.  When  I  first 
came  to  Boston,  many  years  before,  a  poor  boy, 
I  asked  a  well-dressed  boy  in  the  street  if  he 
would  be  kind  enough  to  direct  me  to  Province 
House  Court.  He  sullenly  answered,  "  FoUow 
your  nose."  So  I  began  to  think^  as  long  ago  as 
this,  that  there  was  a  difference  in  people  not 
all  to  the  advantage  of  those  who  have  the  best 
means  of  culture  and  knowledge.  I  knew  there 
was  not  so  ill-mannered  a  lad  in  all  our  poor  little 
country  town.  And  when,  twenty-five  years 
after,  I  received  this  treatment  from  Boston  men, 
and  thought  of  the  different  reception  of  this 
sermon  at  my  far-distant  home,  I  could  not  make 
the  comparison  altogether  in  favor  of  Boston. 

After  this,  finding  the  whole  matter  was  being 
grossly  misrepresented,  I  had  no  redress  but  to 
publish  the  discourse  and  the  letter.  These 
circumstances  gave  it  a  large  circulation.  It  got 
into  different  journals,  east  and  west.  Its  doc- 
trines were  fully  indorsed,  and  its  spirit  highly 
commended,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Furness  and  several 
others  of  our  most  honored  brethren. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  97 

This  is  here  presented  only  as  an  illustration 
of  the  difficulty  of  speaking  at  all  on  such  sub- 
jects at  such  an  exciting  time.  We  were  then 
in  our  period  of  theological  controversy  among 
ourselves,  and  liberality  as  a  spirit  was  fast 
departing.  Living  at  a  distance,  at  the  rim 
rather  than  at  the  hub  of  the  wheel,  I  was  less 
excited  and  more  surprised  than  others  could 
have  been.  As  one  who  had  learned  of  the 
elders,  I  did  not  see  how  those  who  had  never 
professed  to  unite  on  any  theological  basis  should 
feel  any  responsibility  for  each  other's  theologi- 
cal opinions.  I  had  listened  to  discussions  and 
read  essays  in  "  The  Christian  Examiner  "  from 
our  leading  men  as  bold  and  radical,  so  far  as 
the  prevalent  theology  was  concerned,  as  any 
that  were  exciting  so  much  attention  at  this 
time.  I  had  heard  the  celebrated  discoiu'se  on 
"  The  Transient  and  Permanent  in  Christianity  " 
at  the  public  occasion  of  its  delivery,  dined  with 
a  large  company  of  my  brethren,  and  did  not 
hear  at  the  time  that  any  were  shocked  at  its 
doctrines.  But  soon  after  the  evangelical  press 
began  to  denounce  them  as  the  height  of  infi- 
delity ;  and,  in  self-defence.  Unitarians  were  led 
6  o 


98  AS  AUTOBIOGBAPHY. 

into  their  first  great  inconsistency,  —  denuncia- 
tions of  one  another  for  differences  of  opinion  on 
which  they  professedly  and  really  had  no  stand- 
ard. They  were  the  first  body  of  men  who 
ever  united  on  the  principle  of  agreeing  to 
differ. 

They  did  this  for  a  long  time,  and  did  it  weU. 
There  never  was  such  unity  of  purpose  and 
spirit  among  men  of  such  diversities  of  charac- 
ter and  opinion.  It  was  their  glory  and  strength 
that  they  were  not  a  sect,  that  they  had  no 
creed,  that  no  one  was  responsible  for  another's 
theological  position  or  scriptural  interpretation. 

But  when  they,  out  of  regard  to  other  denom- 
inations, or  because  they  chose  to  hold  them- 
selves accountable  for  aU  the  views  advanced  by 
any  individuals  of  their  body,  began  with  pen- 
alties to  enforce  their  general  views,  or  their 
efforts  for  creed  making,  those  troubles  began 
which  impaired  their  union  and  strength,  and 
which  the  skill  of  their  greatest  doctors  of 
divinity  have  failed  to  remove.  It  was  only  in 
the  spirit  of  individual  freedom  that  they  could 
make  progress  or  find  peace.  This  I  saw  very 
clearly  then,  and  so  was  more  interested  in 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  99 

maintaining  the  old  right  than  any  new  doctrine 
of  this  exciting  controversy.  As  an  old-school 
Unitarian,  I  had  learned  in  that  school  to  fear 
no  error  or  heresy,  to  hate  nothing  so  much  as 
cant  and  dishonesty  in  religion,  to  love  nothing 
so  much  as  truth  and  justice  in  all  the  relations 
of  life.  So  the  only  creed  I  could  then  or  ever 
fully  adopt  was,  —  "In necessary  things,  Unity ; 
in  doubtful  things,  Liberty;  in  all  things, 
Charity.''''  In  necessary  things,  where  we  are 
to  concentrate  our  energies  for  organization  and 
work,  Unity.  In  doubtful  or  speculative  things, 
where  there  must  be  various  opinions,  honest 
individual  differences,  according  to  culture  or 
condition,  Liberty.     So  in  all  things,  Charity. 


100  AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHr. 


xm. 

I  HAVE  often  thought  there  was  no  place  that 
could  have  suited  me  so  well  as  N.  at  that  time, 
no  place  where  all  the  influences  were  so  well 
calculated  to  foster  individual  growth  and  har- 
monious development. 

As  my  pulpit  was  free,  as  I  was  allowed  to 
have  my  word,  I  did  not  insist  upon  having 
my  way.  There  was  no  antagonism  between 
the  pulpit  and  the  pews.  We  were  one  in 
spirit  and  purpose,  truth-seeking,  truth-loving 
brethren.  Hence  my  preaching  was  not  con- 
troversial or  negative,  but  positive  and  affirma- 
tive in  the  highest  degree.  There  was  a  large 
reading  and  social  circle  to  which  I  belonged  in 
my  society,  and  in  which  the  subjects  of  my  ser- 
mons of  the  previous  Sunday  were  as  freely 
discussed  as  if  I  had  not  been  present.  There 
was  the  greatest  frankness  and  freedom  of  speech 
exercised  towards  one  another,  and  especially 
towards  me.     I  doubt  if  any  man  ever  had  a 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  101 

better  opportunity  to  see  himself  from  the  out- 
side point  of  view,  or  of  estimating  the  effects 
of  his  own  labors.  It  furnished  me  the  means 
of  seeing  just  what  impressions  I  had  made,  of 
clearing  up  any  obscurities,  correcting  any  mis- 
takes, of  learning  just  the  state  of  my  hearers' 
minds  and  hearts  in  regard  to  the  subjects  thus 
before  us.  These  weekly  conversations  were  so 
frank  and  stimulating  that  they  very  often  fur- 
nished me  the  subject  of  discourse  for  the  next 
Sunday  morning.  And  so  we  went  on  together 
for  years,  mutually  strengthening  and  helping 
each  other. 

But  these  years  were  not  in  other  respects 
unclouded.  I  was  called  to  witness  among  my 
most  intimate  friends  terrible  domestic  tragedies, 
moral  wrecks  and  ruins  really  greater  than  many 
so  vividly  portrayed  in  works  of  fiction.  In 
such  an  isolated  place  every  thing  is  known  to 
all,  families  are  all  more  or  less  related  to  each 
other ;  and  hence  each  has  to  suffer  the  losses 
and  bear  the  burdens  of  all  to  a  greater  extent 
than  among  any  other  people.  These  losses  and 
crosses,  these  wrecks  and  ruins,  were  mostly  in 
my  society,  and  made  constant  demands  for  my 


102  AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

efforts  and  sympathies.  Many  and  great  are 
the  bereavements  I  have  witnessed,  separations 
through  death  and  the  grave ;  hut  these  fade 
away  and  disappear  in  comparison  with  those 
seen  as  living  bereavements,  or  moral  and 
spiritual  deaths.  Of  these  cases  there  is  here 
so  little  hope  of  resurrection.  But  I  must  not 
lift  the  veil  that  hides  the  sorrows  which  cannot 
be  comforted,  the  great  heart  wounds  that  have 
never  healed,  the  broken  and  blighted  lives  of 
dear  friends  who  yet  remain. 

I  had  not  been  here  two  years  when  there 
commenced  such  a  series  of  calamities  as  would 
overwhelm  and  discourage  any  people  on  earth. 
Business  men,  whom  all  their  fellow-citizens 
loved  and  trusted,  began  to  fail,  and  their  lia- 
bilities were  nearly  all  at  home.  Two  banks 
went  down  soon  after,  nearly  all  the  capital  of 
one  nowhere  to  be  found.  The  special  com- 
merce, the  only  business  of  the  place,  rapidly 
declined,  the  ships  were  sold  away  for  other  uses ; 
and  to  crown  all  a  fire  broke  out  which  burned 
over  thirty-six  acres  of  the  heart  of  the  town 
before  its  ravages  could  be  stopped.  All  the 
stores  and  great  store-houses,  with  one  or  two 


AN  ATJTOBIOGRAPHY.  103 

exceptions,  were  swept  away  by  the  devouring 
flames.  A  very  large  proportion  of  my  society 
were  burned  out  of  their  houses  or  business,  and 
many  of  them  out  of  both ;  and  then  in  despair 
they  began  to  go  away  to  begin  anew  in  other 
places,  in  California  and  all  our  great  eastern 
cities.  The  last  year  I  had  scarcely  any  men 
left,  and  they  did  not  see  how  we  were  to  find 
the  means  of  going  on  any  farther.  They  voted 
to  close  the  church,  and  I  came  away. 

No,  not  yet.  I  am  not  ready  for  any  new 
departure.  Where  shall  I  go  ?  what  shall  I  do  ? 
are  questions  first  to  be  decided.  I  had  in  these 
years  found  rest  from  a  wandering  life,  and  for 
my  soul,  —  the  rest  of  a  harmonious  activity ; 
had  worked  so  hard,  and,  through  sympathy, 
suffered  so  much  for  this  afflicted  people,  that  I 
found  myself  deeply  rooted  in  that  soil.  It  was 
best  for  all  concerned  that  the  separation  should 
take  place.  But  God  only  knows  what  a 
wrench  it  takes  to  pull  up  or  break  off  such 
roots.  More  than  twenty  years  have  since 
passed,  —  years  of  great  variety  and  activity,  — 
but  I  can,  and  often  do,  now  see  all  that  assem- 
bly at  that  church,  all  those  men,  women,  and 


104  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

children  whose  faces  were  so  familiar,  look  in 
succession  at  the  families  in  each  pew  down 
those  long  aisles,  and  find  it  verj  difficult  to 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  am  not  still  stand- 
ing in  that  pulpit,  and  that  all  the  scene  is  only 
reminiscence,  that  these  people  are  not  still 
there,  or  that  there  is  not  still  the  same  affec- 
tionate and  spiritual  relation  between  us. 

No.  I  did  not  come  away  with  my  family  for 
more  than  six  months.  Meanwhile  I  preached 
in  several  places  as  a  candidate  for  another  set- 
tlement. At  one  of  these  places,  a  large  city, 
I  stayed  two  months,  and  had  every  reason  to 
believe  my  services  perfectly  acceptable.  But 
before  the  time  came  to  decide,  the  people  were 
warned  against  me  as  an  abolitionist  and  a 
Parkerite.  By  whom,  and  for  what  purpose,  I 
afterward  learned  in  detail.  But  it  was  a  great 
disappointment ;  as  a  whole  summer  had  passed, 
my  family  was  far  away  in  the  most  uncertain 
condition,  and  I  had  still  to  try  elsewhere  with, 
perhaps,  the  same  results  again.  The  old  con- 
troversy was  still  raging,  and  I  had  come  out 
of  my  quiet  retreat  into  the  very  midst  of  it  to 
share  again  the  theological  epithets  and  personal 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  105 

bitterness  which  it  had  engendered.  Oh,  what 
is  there  in  this  Avorld  so  cruel  and  hateful  every 
way  as  religious  bigotry !  I  had  traced  it  in  fire 
and  blood  all  down  the  pages  of  human  history, 
had  experienced  its  blighting  effects  all  through 
my  early  life,  and,  what  was  worst  of  all,  came 
at  last  to  feel  that  there  might  be  a  bigotry  of 
hberalism  as  intolerable  in  its  nature  and  influ- 
ence as  any  other.  What  wonder  that  I  should 
hate  it  in  all  its  forms  wherever  it  might  appear ! 
In  this  town  of  N.,  in  the  neighborhood  where 
I  lived,  there  was  a  little  boy  who  had  a  small 
round  head,  short  neck,  a  very  short  body,  and 
very  long,  slim  legs.  One  day,  as  I  was  sitting 
at  my  window  and  a  number  of  boys  were  play- 
ing in  the  street  before  the  house,  I  heard  a 
great  outcry,  and  saw  this  little  boy  running 
home  with  all  his  might..  Just  before  he  got 
in,  he  cried  louder  than  ever,  "  Mother,  moth- 
er," when  she  came  out,  saying,  "  What  is  the 
matter?"  "  Johnny  Rodgers  keeps  calling  me 
names."  "Does  he?  What  does  he  call  you?" 
"  He  calls  me  '  Clothes-pin.'  All  the  boys  are 
laughing,  and  I  aint  going  to  bear  it  any  longer." 
The  worst  of  it  was  that  when  the  mother  had 

6* 


106  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

her  attention  called  to  this  resemblance  she 
could  not  help  laughing  too.  Now  this  was  a 
hard  case,  because  it  was  based  on  a  physical 
peculiarity  for  which  the  boy  was  in  no  degree 
responsible.  But  it  was  no  more  unjust  or  irri- 
tating than  many  of  the  names  that  we  are  in 
the  habit  of  using  about  mental  or  spiritual  pe- 
culiarities which  individuals  can  no  more  help 
than  this  little  boy  could  his  resemblance  to  an 
old-fashioned  clothes-pin.  Men  are  but  children 
of  a  larger  growth  ;  and  there  is  far  more  evil, 
far  more  malice  and  all  bad  feeling,  in  the  nick- 
names of  grown  people  than  is  ever  attached  to 
those  by  which  boys  call  each  other  while  play- 
ing together  in  the  streets. 

With  the  latter  it  is  often  mere  fun  and  frolic ; 
while  with  the  former  they  are  used  to  express 
and  increase  political  and  religious  prejudices 
and  even  bitterest  hatreds.  They  are  used  for 
scorn  or  contempt,  for  social  alienations  and 
caste  distinctions ;  and  the  more  they  are  thus 
used  the  more  men  seem  to  think  of  the  local 
and  temporary  qualities  or  opinions  thus  desig- 
nated, and  to  forget  the  divine  and  eternal  in 
human  nature,  what  is  inherent  in  all  as  human 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  107 

beings,  what  is  essential  and  common  to  the 
whole  human  family. 

Now,  long  before  our  nicknames  came  into 
use,  I  shrunk  from  being  classified  under  any- 
theological  name  or  designation,  not  because  I 
could  not  bear  the  odium  connected  with  them, 
but  because  I  was  not  in  several  respects  in  full 
sympathy  with  what  they  represented  to  the 
public  mind,  and  because  in  all  denominations, 
and  under  all  names,  I  saw  so  much  that  seemed 
to  be  true,  beautiful,  and  good.  I  joined  the 
Unitarians  when  that  name  represented  a  men- 
tal and  spiritual  status,  liberty  as  a  spirit  rather 
than  as  any  set  of  theological  dogmas  or  secta- 
rian purposes.  I  had  for  many  years  worked  in 
that  spirit  for  no  object  but  the  increase  t)f  truth 
and  righteousness  among  men.  Hence  I  could 
not  bear  to  be  called  by  any  narrowing,  personal 
name,  however  great  that  name  or  good  the 
character  covered  by  it ;  since  no  one  person- 
ality could  possibly  cover  all  that  belongs  to 
humanity.  1  had  exchanged  pulpit  services  with 
Theodore  Parker,  at  the  period  of  his  greatest 
unpopularity,  had  engaged  him  to  lecture  before 
our  lyceum,  and  he  had  given  me  a  labor  of  love 


108  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

one  Sunday  when  I  was  ill.  This  was  the  ex- 
tent of  our  personal  relations.  I  had  a  profound 
regard  for  his  learning,  for  his  philanthropy,  for 
his  religious  genius,  and  for  his  brave,  heroic 
manliness.  But  for  this  I  never  could  see  why 
I  should  be  called  a  Parkerite  ;  or,  from  his 
writings,  how  any  new  system  of  theology  could 
be  found  rightly  to  go  under  the  name  of  "Par- 
kerism."  In  all  that  relates  to  the  infinite  and 
eternal,  to  God  and  divine  things,  how  out  of 
place  are  all  limitations  and  definitions !  We, 
none  of  us,  do  more  than  approximate  the  truth. 
Why  should  we  take  names  which  mean  so  little, 
which  distract  and  divide  into  little  antagonistic 
companies,  directing  us  into  so  many  narrow 
lanes  and  alleys,  into  so  many  little  by-paths, 
instead  of  uniting  us  in  one  great  brotherhood, 
where  we  could  do  so  much  to  help  each  other 
in  the  broad,  onward,  and  upward  way. 

The  best  name  ever  given  to  a  church  is  that 
of  '•''  All-SouU.'"  Because  this  may  have  all  the 
significance  which  each  individual  soul  may  give 
it,  and  none  can  quarrel  with  others  about  any 
theological  definition  of  that  phrase.  It  may  be 
broad  enough  to  comprehend  the  soul  of  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  109 

universe,  and  the  soul  of  humanity,  God,  and 
man ;  for  "  all  souls  are  akin."  Let  churches 
be  founded  on  religion  instead  of  theology,  and 
they  will  at  once  be  for  "  all  souls."  The  dif- 
ference between  the  apprehension  and  compre- 
hension of  the  divine  nature,  character,  and 
government  is  immense. 

Religion  as  a  sentiment,  as  a  sense  of  the 
divine  presence,  care,  and  love,  of  reverence,  of 
duty  and  obligation,  is  the  same  everywhere, 
through  all  the  ages.  All  men  feel  it  more  or 
less  distinctly,  and  give  spiritual  homage  and 
obedience  to  more  or  less  worthy  objects.  All 
souls  are  thus  united  in  religion.  But  in  theol- 
ogy all  is  reversed.  This  is  the  intellectual  con- 
ception of  the  Infinite  and  Incomprehensible  by 
each  individual  or  sect.  This  differs,  and  always 
must  differ,  according  to  the  different  conditions 
of  their  minds,  their  depth  and  breadth  of  cul- 
ture, their  logical  or  illogical  methods  of  reason- 
ing, and  all  that  makes  or  mars  their  intellectual 
character.  Union  on  any  such  basis  ever  has 
been,  and  ever  will  be,  impossible. 

The  church  of  "all  souls,"  then,  is  the  church 
of  all  truly  religious  souls,  of  whatever  theology, 


110  AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHY. 

of  whatever  name,  nation,  or  other  ever-varying 
intellectual  conditions. 

Among  my  most  intelligent  hearers  and  warm- 
est friends  at  N.  were  Quakers,  Spiritualists, 
Universalists,  and  Swedenborgians.  And  I  al- 
ways felt  that  I  had  gone  deepest  and  preached 
best  when  my  discourses  met  the  highest  appro- 
bation of  all  these  different  classes  of  persons, 
when  each  was  satisfied  to  find  his  special  truth 
fully  recognized  in  the  larger  or  whole  truth 
thus  presented.  I  had  been  here  several  years 
when,  coming  out  of  church  one  Sunday,  a  good 
Swedenborgian  said  to  me,  "  You  must  at  some 
time  of  your  life  have  been  a  diligent  student 
of  Swedenborg.  In  your  discourse  to-day,  and 
often,  I  have  been  reminded  of  this."  To  his 
great  astonishment,  I  told  him  I  had  never  read 
Swedenborg  at  all  at  any  time.  I  had,  doubt- 
less, come  to  many  of  his  conclusions  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  from  a  different  stand-point.  And 
what  practical  difference  can  it  make  how  we 
come  to  them,  whose  name  they  take,  or  where 
they  are  found,  whether  in  Vedas,  Korans,  or 
Bibles,  whether  in  nature,  the  human  soul,  or 
through  personal  experiences  of  life  ?    The  diffi- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  UJ 

culty  with  all  sects  is  their  narrowness,  assump- 
tion, and  patronage  of  religion.  Whenever  they 
hear  any  thing  they  like  from  others  they  imme- 
diately claim  it  as  their  own.  They  say,  "  These 
are  our  doctrines;  this  is  Spiritualism,  this  is 
Universalism,  this  is  Quakerism,  or  this  is 
Swedenborgianism,"  when  in  fact  it  is  neither. 
It  is  the  truth.  It  is  common  to  all  great,  ear- 
nest, religious  souls  all  the  world  over  in  pro- 
portion to  their  capacity  and  purity.  All  who 
cast  off  the  fetters  of  authority  and  tradition, 
who  think  for  themselves  and  think  deeply, 
think  alike  or  come  to  similar  conclusions.  It 
IS  chaotic,  sectarian  thought,  or  rather  thought- 
lessness, that  makes  the  sects  so  exclusive  and 
aggressive  towards  one  another.  It  is  from  the 
want  of  a  true  method  of  religious  inquiry. 
There  are  no  sects  in  science.  Some  persons  in 
each  department  see  more  and  know  more  than 
others,  but  so  far  as  they  do  see  and  know  they 
see  and  know  alike.  The  new  departure  of  the 
religious  world,  the  only  effective  movement  it 
can  make,  is  the  introduction  of  the  scientific 
method  of  investigation  for  all  subjects  of  reli- 
gious interest.     It  is  only  shallow,  empirical, 


112  AN  ATITOBIOGBAPHY. 

textual  thought  that  here  divides  and  alienates 
men. 

My  position  at  N.  had  been,  in  many  "N^^ays, 
favorable  to  the  development  of  this  order  of 
thought.  ,My  frequent,  almost  daily,  walk  ter- 
minated on  a  bluff  which  commanded  the  grand- 
est view  of  the  heaven  above  and  the  ocean 
around  me  ;  and  as  I  rested  there  above  the 
beautiful  beach,  watching  the  motion  of  the 
great  waves  as  they  broke  on  the  shores  with 
such  infinite  variety  and  power,  my  thoughts 
would  go  sounding  on  and  on  to  the  infinite  in 
every  direction.  There  is  no  influence  of  nature 
so  enlarging  and  inspiring  as  that  which  comes 
from  the  vast,  unfathomable  ocean.  There  was 
nothing  to  arrest  or  break  my  thought  between 
me  and  the  whole  Eastern  Continent.  All  the 
historical  places  of  the  old  world,  so  distant, 
seemed  so  near.  I  was  daily  familiar  with  that 
element  which  alone  unites  all  the  islands  and 
continents  of  the  earth;  which  alone  has  re- 
mained unchanged  through  all  the  ages  ;  the 
one  means  of  intercourse  for  all  nations  and 
races  of  men.  What  wonder  that  the  world 
should  seem  larger  as  we  stand  by  the  side  of 


AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  113 

that  which  unites  the  whole  earth  and  reflects 
the  whole  heavens !  What  wonder  that  in 
leaving  such  scenes  and  influences,  and  going 
out  into  the  world  of  men,  with  its  little  ways 
and  purposes,  with  its  narrowing,  irritating,  and 
dividing  theological  contentions,  I  should  find 
some  of  my  greatest  trials,  that  it  should  be 
long  before  I  iagain  found  a  new  home  or  the 
old   peace  ! 

My  church  was  closed  the  1st  of  May,  and  it 
was  a  whole  year  before  I  found  another  parish. 
Of  the  summer's  experience  I  have  already 
spoken.  November  had  come  without  any 
results,  and  I  must  take  my  family  somewhere 
where  I  could  be  nearer  or  go  and  come  with 
much  less  expense.  The  church  was  again 
opened,  I  preached  my  farewell  sermon,  and 
began  to  make  immediate  preparations  for  a 
final  departure. 

"Whither  ?  was  still  the  question.  I  had  spent 
here  the  best  part  of  my  life ;  had  preact  ed 
year  after  year,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  in  the 
morning  to  a  regular  congregation,  in  the  even- 
ing to  free  public  meetings,  both  always  well 
attended ;  visiting  families  and  schools,  attend- 


114  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ing  teachers'  meetings,  temperance  meetings, 
debating  societies,  and  all  the  various  public 
duties  of  such  a  position  in  such  a  place.  I  had 
lived  in  kindly  personal  relations  with  all,  no 
family  had  ever  left  my  society  to  go  to  any 
other,  and  yet  here  was  a  failure.  I  must  go. 
Whither  ?  and  what  my  means  ?  For  all  this 
labor,  care,  and  responsibility  I  had  received 
one  thousand  dollars  a  year,  —  the  last  six 
months  my  uncertain  income  was  two  hundred 
dollars  less  than  the  absolute  necessities  of  my 
family  required.  And  now  I  must  go  some- 
where and  do  something.  Whither?  What? 
At  any  former  period,  or  in  any  other  circum- 
stances, this  people  would  not  have  allowed  me 
to  go  in  this  condition  with  my  large  family 
and  such  an  uncertain  future.  As  it  was,  poor 
as  all  felt,  and  many  had  become,  they  presented 
me  with  enough  to  discharge  my  obligations, 
and  I  must  go  as  poor  as  I  came,  and,  as  the 
sequel  will  show,  even  poorer. 

I  put  all  I  had  in  the  world  (except  two  or 
three  trunks  with  change  of  clothing)  into  a 
packet  bound  for  Boston,  and  started  with  my 
family  by  another  conveyance,  and  rented  a  small 


AN  AI7T0BI0GEAPHY.  115 

house  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  daily- 
expecting  the  arrival  of  my  furniture.  After  a 
week's  disappointment  we  learned  that  this 
packet  had  struck  on  a  shoal,  sprung  a  leak,  and 
was  full  of  water.  Here  were  my  books,  bed- 
ding, furniture,  and  every  thing  was  ruined.  I 
got  some  of  my  best  things  afterwards,  but  they 
were  so  damaged  that  they  were  scarcely  worth 
the  freight  I  paid  on  them.  Here  endeth  this 
sketeh  of  my  life  at  N., — a  fitting  close  to  a 
series  of  disasters  which  could  neither  have 
been  foreseen  nor  prevented. 


116  AJS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


XIV. 

December  1, 1850.  Dear  old  home  broken  up, 
furniture  wrecked  and  ruined,  irregular  and 
poorly  paid  employment,  house  rented,  but 
nothing  to  put  in  it  except  wife  and  seven  chil- 
dren, —  no  prospect  of  a  merry  Christmas  or  a 
happy  New  Year. 

At  this  darkest  period  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances helped  us  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,  and  we  got  through  the  win- 
ter, —  I  scarcely  know  how.  We  had  come 
from  a  mild,  genial  climate,  and  this  winter  was 
one  of  uncommon  severity.  I  made  long  jour- 
neys over  New  England,  and  after  deducting 
travelling  expenses  returned  with  less  than  an 
average  of  ten  dollars  a  Sunday;  preached  a 
month  at  A.,  riding  twenty  miles  in  hot  cars  and 
eight  in  a  cold  open  sleigh,  and  sleeping  in  an 
icy  cold  room.  The  result  of  this  winter's 
anxiety  and  exposure  was  an  inflammatory  rheu- 
matism, which  lasted  me  through  nine  weeks  of 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  117 

the  Spring.  And  so  on  to  the  end  of  a  whole 
chapter  that  might  be  written  of  this  kind  of 
life. 

Before  I  had  fully  recovered  my  health  1 
received  an  invitation  to  take  charge  of  a  society 
at  E.,  a  few  miles  from  the  city.  The  village 
was  only  a  few  years  old,  but  of  great  prospec- 
tive importance  ;  the  society  was  small  in  num- 
ber, but  large  in  variety  and  weight  of  character. 
A  few  of  the  best  families  I  have  ever  known 
had  early  settled  there,  and  had  left  their  im 
pression  on  the  whole  place.  They  had  started 
this  liberal  religious  movement  at  the  village 
hall,  with  the  expectation  that  they  would  soon 
outgrow  it  and  be  able  to  build  a  church.  When 
I  went  there  these  anticipations  seemed  to  be 
well  founded.  But  suddenly  the  tide  of  emi- 
gration from  Boston  ceased,  or  was  turned  to 
another  part  of  the  town,  and  I  think  there  was 
not  another  house  built  during  the  two  years  of 
my  residence  there.  In  this  we  were  all  greatly 
disappointed.  Here  I  had  a  free  pulpit  and  a 
united  society,  but  none  of  the  expected  growth 
on  which  the  whole  movement  was  based.  I 
struggled   along  for  two  years,  and  then  re- 


118  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

signed.  Here  again  was  what  is  generally 
called  a  failure ;  but  as  I  now  look  back  upon 
those  years,  and  see  how  they  affected  the  cur- 
rents of  my  thought  and  feeling,  how  they 
introduced  me  to  the  companionship  of  some 
of  the  choicest  spirits  of  New  England,  I  am 
devoutly  thankful  even  for  the  whole  experi- 
ence, sadly  as  it  terminated. 

Here  my  eldest  daughter  was  married,  and  my 
second  son  received  into  the  family  of  a  very 
dear  old  friend  to  prepare  for  college.  Five 
were  left  to  be  provided  for,  and  we  were  to  go 
out  into  the  world  to  begin  again.  Whither  ? 
and  to  what  purpose  ?  This  repeated  question 
grows  more  appalling  as  we  grow  older  and 
increase  this  kind  of  experience.  Again  I  am 
not  ready  to  answer  the  question,  and  so  will 
speak  more  fully  of  this  important  period.  The 
outward  life  of  any  person  is  of  little  account 
except  as  an  illustration  of  the  public  life  of  his 
time,  or  of  the  public  work  he  is  attempting 
to  do. 

In  the  last  two  years  of  the  first  half  and  the 
first  two  of  the  present  half  of  this  nineteenth 
century  there  seemed  to  be  a  general  eulmina- 


AK  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  119 

tion  of  all  kinds  of  institutions,  influences,  and 
opinions.  Previous  to  1848  there  had  been  a 
long  period  of  restless,  aimless  agitation  in 
Church  and  State  in  Europe  and  in  this  country. 
Society  had  long  been  drifting  away  from  its  old 
moorings,  many  signals  had  been  set  for  a  pilot, 
but  none  appeared  with  credentials  to  inspire 
confidence,  or  with  power  to  take  the  helm. 
Some  would  say,  "  Lo,  here  ;  "  and  others,  "  Lo, 
there:"  and  excited  companies  were  seen  run- 
ning in  every  direction.  All  was  chaotic,  and 
seemed  to  answer  no  one  great  purpose.  At 
last  crystallization  commenced  around  the  prin- 
ciples of  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity. 
These  words  meant  something  at  that  time. 
"  Liberty,"  in  opposition  to  all  kinds  of  arbitrary 
despotic  authority.  "  Equality,"  equal  rights 
before  the  law.  "  Fraternity,"  recognition  of 
social  obligations,  brotherhood  of  races  and 
nations,  co-operation  instead  of  the  reckless 
competition  that  was  crushing  out  and  destroy- 
ing such  multitudes  of  men  everywhere.  All 
at  once  these  electric  words  seemed  to  kindle 
the  hearts  of  whole  nations  into  a  flame.  Great 
standing   armies  -and  fortifications    all    turned 


120  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

against  Louis  Philippe.  He  fled  from  his  back 
door  in  disguise,  a  wandering  exile.  Light 
broke  out  from  the  darkest  places ;  even  the 
Pope  turned  reformer.  Austria,  Prussia,  Italy, 
Naples,  Sicily,  Bavaria,  Switzerland,  in  fact,  all 
Europe  was  convulsed  by  the  new  spirit.  The 
noblest  men  in  France  were  placed  in  the  high- 
est public  positions.  The  great-headed  Mazzini, 
and  the  great-hearted  Garibaldi,  and  the  elo- 
quent-lipped Kossuth,  who  devoted  both  head 
and  heart  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  —  all  such  men 
everywhere  came  to  the  front  as  leaders  of  the 
new  movement.  Never  before  had  there  been 
such  a  general  awakening,  such  a  deep  moral 
enthusiasm  for  a  new  condition  of  society. 

In  a  short  time  the  same  influence  began  to 
pervade  our  American  life.  We  began  to  feel 
exceedingly  ashamed  of  being  ruled  by  a  little 
slaveholding  oligarchy.  We  put  a  new  party 
into  possession  of  our  government  that  prom- 
ised to  resist  the  aggressions  of  this  faction,  and 
throw  our  whole  influence  on  the  side  of  our 
national  principles.  This  new  Whig  party,  now 
deceased,  was  composed  of  the  best  materials 
the  country  afforded,  and  we  had  every  reason 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  121 

to  rejoice  in  its  victory.  Thus  at  home  and 
abroad  the  closing  years  of  this  half  century 
seemed  auspicious  to  liberty,  justice,  and  all  the 
great  interests  of  humanity. 

Soon,  however,  a  reaction  commenced  both 
here  and  in  Europe,  and  was  followed  by  a  cor- 
responding degradation  and  ruin.  Every  hope 
seemed  to  be  blighted  in  the  general  moral  sub- 
serviency to  political  power  and  material  inter- 
ests. The  perjured  Louis  Napoleon  led  off  in 
Europe  by  wholesale  slaughter  and  banishment, 
the  slave  power  here  became  triumphant  through 
the  very  party  that  was  elected  to  oppose  it,  the 
greatest  men  bowed  before  it,  the  humihating 
fugitive  slave  law  was  passed,  and  the  free  States 
were  made  hunting-grounds  for  our  Southern 
masters.  The  old  traitors  to  liberty  in  Rome 
were  re-established  by  French  bayonets.  Rus- 
sia and  Austria  combined  to  replace  the  old 
feudal  tyranny  in  Hungary.  The  great  Hunga- 
rian, with  his  whole  soul  aflame  with  the  spirit 
of  freedom,  went  to  England  to  plead  for  sym- 
pathy and  assistance,  and  found  no  response 
from  her  government.  He  came  here  to  awaken 
us  to  the  importance  of  this  trying  hour.  Con- 
6 


122  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

gress  gave  him  politic  and  formal  compliments, 
but  the  nation  would  do  nothing  in  his  behalf 
that  would  endanger  its  ruling  interests.  Never 
was  there  such  a  sacred  eloquence  as  his,  such 
appeals  to  all  the  higher  nature  of  men,  as  he 
made  to  us  and  the  English  people.  In  what 
was  called  "  The  Cradle  of  American  Liberty," 
Faneuil  Hall,  he  wanted  us  to  leave  out  the 
word  "  American,"  and  say  simply  "Liberty," 
—  liberty  as  a  principle,  the  same  for  all  nations 
and  races  of  men.  By  so  many  illustrations  from 
history,  experience,  and  all  the  great  principles 
of  political  economy,  he  tried  to  show  us  all 
how  narrow  and  short-sighted  was  our  present 
policy,  how  truly  the  real  interests  of  each  were 
the  real  interests  of  all.  The  great  leaders  in 
the  anti-slavery  cause  thundered  and  lightened 
in  the  same  direction ;  but  all  seemed  to  be  in 
vain.  It  was  the  darkest  period  that  had  come 
upon  the  world  in  a  whole  century.  A  sys- 
tematic demoralization  had  commenced.  The 
pulpit  and  press  had  changed  their  tone  to  suit 
the  leaders  of  sects  and  parties,  and  the  reaction 
was  everywhere  complete.  France,  which  for 
centuries  bad  stood  at  the  head  of  the  civilized 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  128 

world,  the  central  light  and  glory  of  Europe,  at 
last  bartered  away  every  thing  for  her  material 
interests  and  personal  pleasures,  and  settled 
down  into  the  quiet  of  a  most  contemptible 
despotism. 

England  had  stood  aloof  from  the  struggling 
nations  of  Europe,  had  repressed  her  instincts 
of  humanity,  her  generous  sympathies  for  the 
cause  of  freedom,  and  thus  allowed  the  perjured 
tyrants  to  gain  an  ascendancy.  She  threw  away 
her  best  opportunity  of  extending  her  moral 
influence  over  those  nations,  and  binding  them 
to  her  for  ever.  She  sacrificed  every  thing  that 
has  ever  been  held  sacred  on  earth  for  trade  and 
commerce.  Our  position  was  as  much  worse 
as  our  pretensions  were  greater.  Our  fugitive 
slave  law  was  published  in  various  nations  and 
languages,  and  oppressors  everywhere  saw  that 
a  people  who,  against  all  their  moral  and  reli- 
gious convictions,  against  all  the  principles  on 
which  their  own  national  existence  was  based, 
against  all  the  principles  for  which  their  fathers 
lived  and  died,  would  make  and  enforce  such  a 
law  as  that,  would  submit  to  any  thing  which 
they  thought  for  their  present  interests,  and 


124  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

therefore  that  no  interference,  no  defence  of  m- 
ternational  laws,  were  to  be  expected  or  feared 
from  this  quarter.  So  general,  so  appalling  was 
this  fanaticism  of  evil,  that  many  individuals 
were  overwhelmed  with  humiliation  and  shame, 
many  others  burst  out  into  a  rage  of  indignation 
that  could  not  be  quenched  or  even  suppressed. 
My  own  position  and  feelings  in  regard  to  these 
things  may  be  most  clearly  seen  in  the  following 
extract  from  an  address  delivered  and  published 
in  February,  1852 :  — 

"When  the  reactionists  see  that  men  are  almost 
wholly  given  to  idolatry,  to  an  exclusive  mammon 
worship,  that  they  have  lost  their  faith  and  moral 
courage,  that  the  chivalric,  self-sacrificing,  heroic 
spirit  is  dying  out  of  society  in  the  universal  pres- 
ence of  the  commercial  spirit,  they  have  nothing  to 
fear.  When  they  hear  men  ridiculing  all  as  fools 
and  fanatics  who  preach  obedience  to  a  higher  law 
cftaii  that  of  the  selfish  and  profligate  politicians, 
who  place  the  rights  of  humanity  above  the  lights 
of  property,  and  see  that  there  is  something  better 
than  peace  and  comfort,  —  when  they  hear  this  in 
the  most  advanced  portion  of  the  earth,  they  may 
well  see  that  their  success  is  assured,  that  if  they  can 
silence  or  brand  with  obloquy  the  few  fanatics  of  the 
time  their  way  is  all  clear  before  them. 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  125 

"  Oh,  my  friends,  when  I  compare  past  ages  with 
the  present,  in  this  respect,  I  feel  a  degree  of  disap- 
pointment and  humiliation  that  I  cannot  express.  I 
feel  that  I  should  be  willing  to  give  up  all  that  we 
have  gained  for  that  noble,  disinterested,  heroic 
spii'it  we  have  lost.  I  feel  that  we  are  purchasing 
peace  and  comfort  at  the  most  terrible  sacrifices.  I 
feel  that  the  public  mind  and  heart  is  paralyzed  by 
this  all-pervading  selfishness  and  sensuality.  I  hear 
men  on  all  occasions,  both  in  speech  and  action,  im- 
plying that  there  is  no  good  so  great,  nothing  so 
sacred,  as  property;  that  moral  cowardice  is  wisdom 
and  prudence ;  that  there  is  nothing  that  they  will  not 
sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  mammon,  —  till  I  begin  to 
feel  as  if  Satan  had  already  got  possession  of  the 
world,  and  we  were  living  under  some  demoniac 
spell  which  we  have  lost  the  power  to  break. 

"  When  I  think  what  a  general  absence  of  all  great 
principles  there  is  in  politics  and  religion,  what  a 
tame,  servile,  sordid,  enervating,  compromising  spirit 
pervades  modern  society,  I  do  not  see  from  what 
quarter  any  efiectual  resistance  is  to  be  expected.  I 
do  not  see  where  the  encroachments  of  any  kind  of 
oppression  are  to  be  stopped.  And  this  thought 
oppresses  me  beyond  endurance.  I  feel  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  divine  anger,  as  a  holy  war ;  and 
that  the  time  has  come  for  it  to  commence.  Oh,  that 
some  Peter  the  Hermit  would  arise,  and  preach  up 
a  crusade  against  the  moneyed  feudalism  of  this  age 


126  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

that  is  so  rapidly  enslaving  even  the  greatest  minds 
and  corrupting  the  noblest  hearts,  —  a  crusade  to 
take  and  guard  the  holy  sepulchres  of  politics  and 
religion  from  far  more  dangerous  foes  than  Turks  or 
lieathens. 

"  A  man  whom  Dr.  Johnson  once  reproved  for  fol- 
lowing a  useless  and  demoralizing  business,  said  in 
excuse,  '  You  know,  doctor,  that  I  must  live.'  This 
brave  old  hater  of  every  thing  mean  and  hateful  coolly 
replied,  that '  he  did  not  see  the  least  necessity  for 
that.'  And  so  I  would  say  to  those  who  are  now 
for  giving  up  every  thing  for  peace  and  life,  who  are 
daily  sacrificing  all  their  highest  convictions  and 
sympathies  to  their  business  and  interests,  there  is 
no  necessity  at  all  for  your  living.  The  world  would 
be  better  off  without  you.  If  you  cannot  live  with- 
out smothering  all  that  is  noble,  generous,  and  manly 
within  you,  you  can  die.  There  are  many  things 
that  are  better  than  life,  for  which  life  should  be 
freely  sacrificed ;  and  if  you  are  so  corrupted  that 
you  cannot  see  and  feel  this  truth,  the  sooner  you 
die  the  better :  you  will  only  be  corrupting  otiiers. 
There  is  not  the  least  necessity  for  your  living. 
Those  who  think  that  they  must  live  at  any  price,  that 
they  must  have  peace  and  physical  comfort  and  lux- 
ury, are  already  dead  as  men ;  and  it  is  the  multi- 
tudes of  such  persons  that  give  society  its  present 
tone  and  character.  Oh !  if  there  is  nothing  better 
than  what  men  are  now  generally  living  for ;  if  there 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  127 

is  nothing  better  for  men  than  to  eat  and  drink  and 
enjoy  themselves,  then ,  I,  for  one,  have  lived  long 
enough.  I  am  tired  of  the  world  and  all  its  con- 
cerns. But  it  may  be  asked  what  I  would  have  men 
do ;  if  I  would  have  them  engage  in  a  war  against 
the  usurpers  and  oppressors.  And  I  answer.  No: 
not  a  war  of  the  common  kind,  where  we  cannot  face 
the  real  tyrants,  but  only  their  poor  hireling  dupes 
and  tools;  though  I  do  not  regard  any  war  as  half 
so  great  an  evil  as  that  state  of  society  which  makes 
not  even  life  worth  contending  for.  No:  we  have 
but  to  change  the  purpose  and  spirit  of  our  life  to 
make  war  unnecessary,  to  raise  up  a  power  which 
no  tyranny  could  long  withstand.  But  so  long  as 
we  occupy  our  present  moral  position,  so  long  as  we 
show  ourselves  ready  to  give  up  every  thing  to  our 
interests,  so  long  as  our  highest  watchwords  are 
peace  and  union,  there  will  be  war,  —  war  of  the 
worst  kind,  war  upon  all  the  rights  of  men,  war 
upon  all  that  renders  life  worth  possessing  and  de- 
fending. 

"  A  single  instance  is  sufficient  to  show  what  this 
power  is  that  we  so  greatly  need,  and  how  it  is 
dreaded  by  the  enemies  of  freedom.  The  despots 
of  Europe,  hedged  around  as  they  are  with  bayonets, 
fear  one  poor  helpless  exile  who  truly  represents  j^ 
great  principles,  who  has  the  heart,  the  faith,  the 
spirit  of  a  man  in  him,  so  much  that  the  whole 
power  of  their  diplomacy  and  money  is  used  to  slan- 


128  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

der  him,  and  thus  destroy  his  influence.  Now,  sup- 
pose this  nation  as  truly  represented  and  stood  by 
the  same  principles,  suppose  we  all  had  the  same 
incon-uptible,  indomitable,  heroic  spirit,  could  we 
not  cause  the  international  laws  to  be  respected 
without  war?  Would  not  war  be  the  last  thing 
thought  of?  Could  we  not  express  our  thoughts 
upon  international  questions,  could  we  not  say  our 
souls  were  our  own,  if  we  had  any,  without  counting 
the  cost  ?  Tyrants  and  dastards,  knowing  their  own 
weakness,  never  fear  dastards.  It  is  true.  God-fear- 
ing men  only,  —  men  and  nations  who  have  great 
principles  to  defend,  and  brave  souls  to  defend  them, 
—  that  they  fear. 

"  We  see,  then,  why  the  nations  have  fallen,  what 
our  difficulty  and  danger  is,  and  why  we  are  so  afraid 
of  war.  Just  in  proportion  as  we  become  men,  and 
learn  to  value  and  respect  the  rights  of  men,  the 
causes  and  probabilities  of  war  will  be  diminished. 
"We  must  be  something,  and  feel  that  we  have  some- 
thing worth  contending  for,  before  we  can  have  any 
true  and  lasting  peace  at  home  or  abroad." 

This  may  appear  a  gloomy  and  exaggerated 
view  of  the  spirit  of  the  times ;  but  the  reader 
must  remember  that  the  picture  was  drawn 
twenty  years  ago,  and  engraved  by  many  cir- 
cumstances and  influences  that  are  inexpressible 
and   almost  inconceivable  now:  when   Massa- 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  129 

chusetts  troops  were  used  to  take  Anthony 
Burns  through  State  Street  back  into  slavery  ; 
when  I  stood  there  and  saw  so  many  eyes  flash 
with  anger,  so  many  weeping  with  sorrow  and 
shame,  and  heard  so  many  excited  men  swear 
by  all  that  was  holy  to  them  and  their  fathers 
that  these  outrages  against  liberty  and  human- 
ity should  be  resisted  even  unto  death.  No, 
the  sacrifices  to  political  and  sectarian  expedi- 
ency, the  degrading  subserviency  of  our  public 
men ;  the  worldly,  timid,  craven  spirit  of  society 
at  this  period,  could  not,  by  any  language,  be 
exaggerated. 


6* 


130  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


XV. 

It  was  at  ttis  exciting  time  my  ministry  at  E. 
closed  ;^and  I  was  to  go  out  again  to  find  an- 
other parish  that  might  want  my  services.  The 
society  here,  before  I  came  to  it,  had  received 
assistance  from  a  rich  city  society ;  but  when  it 
took  the  liberty  to  invite  me  to  become  its  min- 
ister, this  assistance  was  at  once  refused.  The 
expenses  of  living  at  E.  were  necessarily  large, 
as  they  are  in  all  the  suburbs  of  a  great  city. 
But  my  income  was  only  eight  hundred  per 
year, — less  than  one  hundred  each  for  our 
family.  This,  following  my  loss  by  shipwreck, 
transient  employment,  and  long,  severe  illness 
of  a  previous  year,  left  me  in  the  most  uncertain 
and  destitute  condition.  What  had  I  done  ? 
What  crime  had  I  committed  that  the  two  hun- 
dred formerly  given  to  my  society  should  be 
withheld  in  such  a  time  of  need?  I  did  not 
then  inquire  or  complain,  because  I  perfectly 
understood  the  whole  matter.     The  old  objec- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  131 

tions  to  me  at  R.  were  greater  than  ever.  I 
would  in  my  preaching  persist  in  connecting 
religion  with  life,  with  present  circumstances, 
duties,  and  obligations ;  would  not  go  back  to 
Noah  and  his  old  ark ;  would  not  preach  against 
the  sins  of  the  Jews,  against  sin  in  general, 
or  sin  in  the  abstract,  but  against  the  par- 
ticular sins  that  did  then  and  there  "most 
easily  beset  us ; "  would  explain  away  some 
miracle,  endanger  some  popular  theological 
dogma ;  would  occasionally  bring  into  the  pulpit 
temperance,  anti-slavery,  or  some  other  topics 
about  which  there  was  great  difference  of  opin- 
ion :  and  this  the  public  had  decided  should  not 
be  done.  What  wonder  that  the  leaders  of  this 
old,  respectable,  conservative  society  should 
decide  against  helping  anybody  who  gave  me 
countenance  or  support  in  such  a  course  ? 

One  of  these  representative  men  said  to  me  at 
this  time  that  he  had  no  objections  to  our  estab- 
lishing papers  and  employing  lectures  to  diffuse 
our  opinions  on  any  of  these  secular  subjects, 
but  that  the  pulpit  was  no  place  and  Sunday  no 
time  for  such  kind  of  influences ;  that  the 
church  was  sacred  to  the  worship  of  God,  and 


132  AN  AUTOBIOGBAPHY. 

whoever  attempted  to  do  more  would  only  do 
more  harm,  by  distracting  and  dividing  our 
congregations. 

My  reply  was,  "  So  much  the  worse  for  these 
people  if  they  can  be  so  alienated  from  each 
other,  if  they  can  tolerate  no  difference  of 
opinion,  if  they  cannot  welcome  or  treat  with 
hospitality  any  new  or  strange  thought.  They 
all  the  more  need  the  agitation  it  is  calculated 
to  produce.  Your  true  position  is  with  the 
Cathohcs.  Their  great  cathedrals  are  built 
expressly  for  this  one  purpose.  They  are 
adapted  to  processions,  ceremonies,  and  shows 
of  all  kinds.  The  priests  have  their  parts  all 
arranged.  They  are  the  actors  in  this  solemn 
dramatic  service,  and  the  whole  expresses 
exactly  what  is  there  understood  by  religious 
worship.  I  am  only  surprised,  sir,  that  you 
should  call  yourself  a  Unitarian,  or  even  a 
Protestant." 

In  all  our  societies  there  were  persons  who 
objected  to  the  discussion  of  controversial  sub- 
jects on  the  ground  that  some  minds  might  be 
disturbed  and  unsettled  by  such  means.  They 
regarded  agitation  as  an  evil  to  be  studiously 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  133 

avoided.  One  of  our  clergymen  at  the  close  of 
a  long  ministry  congratulated  his  parishioners 
that  they  had  remained  in  repose  amidst  all  the 
controversies  and  excitements  of  this  period.  ' 
Another,  at  the  close  of  a  twenty-five  years' 
ministry,  took  great  credit  to  himself  for  keep- 
ing, with  the  help  of  his  parishioners,  all  the 
isms  out  of  their  town ;  and  he  might  have 
added  an  equal  amount  of  intellectual  activity 
also.  He  died  soon  after  and  his  society  would 
have  done  the  same  if  it  had  only  had  life 
enough.  It  had  candidates  for  two  years  only 
because  nobody  felt  interest  enough  to  get  up  a 
parish  meeting  and  call  one  of  this  great  num- 
ber. '  When  this  fact  was  related  to  me  by  the 
chairman  of  the  committee,  and  I  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter  with  the  society,  the  reply 
was,  "  I  do  not  know  that  it  has  any  particular 
disease  except  the  dry  rot.''''  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, see  the  intimate  connection  between  this 
fact  and  the  other,  that  their  late  minister  had 
kept  aU  the  isms  out  of  the  town,,  was  never  in 
earnest  except  in  opposing  all  the  new  modes  of 
thought  and  action.  I  told  him  I  had  much 
experience  in  different  places  in  regard  to  this 


134  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

matter,  and  had  found  in  the  towns  where  they 
had  taken  the  isms  when  they  first  came  along, 
ih  the  natural  course  of  things,  as  children  take 
the  measles,  mumps,  and  hooping-cough,  the 
people  were  intellectually  a  quarter  of  a  century 
in  advance  of  other  towns  like  his;  that  they 
would  have  to  entertain  them  sooner  or  later, 
and  the  more  out  of  season  the  more  violent  and 
dangerous  they  would  be  ;  that  I  did  not  have 
the  measles  until  I  was  nearly  forty  years  old, 
and  then  they  almost  killed  me.  Not  long  after 
this  conversation  the  peace  of  that  eminently 
conservative  town  and  parish  was  disturbed  by 
Spiritualism  ;  and  all  the  isms  rushed  in  with  it. 
The  reaction  was  in  proportion  to  repression, 
and  unseasonableness.  When  these  Rip  Van 
Winkles  were  fully  awakened  they  did  not 
know  where  they  were,  or  what  to  make  of 
things ;  they  belonged  to  a  past  age,  and  could 
not  readily  fit  into  this. 

The  peace  of  cowardice,  indolence,  and  in- 
action, which  is  the  idol  of  so  many  Protestant 
sectarian  societies,  is  the  peace  of  the  stagnant 
pool.  It  is  as  bad  as  the  Catholic's  peace  of 
mental  despotism.     Those  who  do  not  dare  to 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  135 

reason  at  all,  about  religious  matters,  are  on 
the  same  plane  as  those  who  do  not  dare  to 
accept  the  results  of  their  reasoning. 

Such  a  peace  was  not  possible  even  for  the 
Roman  Church  when  it  had  kings  and  emperors, 
all  civil  power  under  its  control ;  and  certainly, 
since  the  time  of  Luther,  there  has  been  no  ten- 
dency in  this  direction.  Individuality  and  con- 
flict of  opinion  are  always  and  everywhere  the 
signs  of  mental  activity.  If  men  think  at  all 
they  must  and  will  think  differently.  There  is 
and  can  be  no  undisputed  dogmatical  ecclesias- 
tical or  church  refuge.  The  rituahstic,  timid, 
indolent,  unthinking  multitudes  may  go  on  seek- 
ing such  refuge,  but  it  will  be  with  no  better 
success  than  in  the  past. 

All  mental  insurrections  and  Protestant  refor- 
mations, all  divisions  and  strifes  attending  the 
modern  increase  of  individuality,  bring  wi^h 
them  great  evils  and  dangers ;  but  these  are 
nothing  compared  with  the  mental  activity  which 
is  thus  awakened  and  increased.  Every  intelli- 
gent physician  knows  how  much  more  hope  he 
has  of  a  fever  than  of  palsy ;  of  any  acute,  pain- 
ful disease  than  of  the  dull,  insidious  "  dry  rot." 


136  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

If  we  would  have  neither  religioiis  fever  nor 
palsy  we  must  comply  with  the  conditions  of 
Hfe,  health,  and  growth.  We  must  have  a  living 
sympathy  with  our  time,  with  the  spirit  of  our 
age,  must  open  our  minds  to  its  inspirations, 
check  its  excesses,  and  guide  to  good  ends  all 
its  highest  influences. 

There  is  nothing  so  prejudicial  to  mental  and 
spiritual  health  as  an  exclusive  sentimental  con- 
servatism, which  makes  every  thing,  even  truth 
and  duty,  subordinate  to  an  indolent,  selfish, 
complacent  repose. 

In  those  days,  when  these  political  and  re- 
ligious excitements  were  at  their  height,  there 
was  no  great  demand  for  this  plain,  outspoken 
way  of  presenting  the  subjects  in  controversy, 
in  the  pulpit,  or  out  of  it.  Societies  chose  their 
ministers  as  they  did  their  church-bells,  —  for 
their  tone.  Under  the  most  harmless  discourses, 
many  persons  could  see  some  latent  heresy  or 
implied  reform.  The  leading  men  were  always 
watching  for  something  which  they  could  turn 
to  account  in  some  way.  Parish  committees 
who  had  vacant  pulpits  to  supply  were  exceed- 
ingly anxious  about  their  candidates.     In  one 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  187 

society,  where  I  had  been  invited  to  preach  a 
few  Sundays,  there  was  a  great  effort  made  to 
have  me  understand  that  my  audience  would 
not  expect  me  to  introduce  any  exciting  topic. 
This  committee  did  every  thing  but  ask  me  what 
my  subject  was  to  be ;  and,  to  relieve  them  of 
their  anxiety,  I  promised  to  be  as  dull,  stupid, 
and  commonplace  as  possible.  At  this  time  it 
was  very  difficult  for  me  to  find  any  employ- 
ment, except  in  poor,  distant,  out-of-the-way 
places.  Not  that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  saying 
very  shocking  things,  or  discussing  secular,  to 
the  neglect  of  strictly  religious  subjects ;  but, 
from  the  frankness  of  my  nature,  my  leanings 
could  always  be  seen,  and  in  the  sensitive  state 
of  the  public  mind  my  reformatory  tone  was 
always  too  decided.  Of  the  treatment  then 
received  I  had  no  complaint  to  make  ;  expected 
nothing  better,  so  was  not  disappointed  or 
soured  by  it.  But  in  my  circumstances,  I  was 
living  at  great  cost,  and  the  reader  can  easily 
see  that  these  were  times  that  "  tried  men's 
souls "  far  more  than  in  our  country's  first 
revolution. 

In  this  connection  I  have  reason  to  remember 


138  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

a  conversation  with  a  distinguished  lawyer  who 
introduced  himself  as  I  was  coming  out  of 
church,  and  invited  me  home  to  dine  with  him. 
This  was  in  a  State  I  had  never  visited  before, 
and  we  were  both  strangers  to  each  other. 
"  Where  are  you  settled  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  No- 
where." "  I  thought  so.  The  reason  I  asked 
was  the  desire  to  know  where  there  was  a  society 
with  whom  such  discourses  as  you  gave  us  to- 
day could  be  popular.  Are  you  independent 
in  your  circumstances?"  "No,  very  poor." 
"  Not  married,  I  hope  ?  "  "  Yes,  and  a  large 
family  depending  on  me."  "  Well,  I  know  not 
how  it  is  in  other  sections  of  the  country,  but 
in  this  neighborhood  you  would  have  to  preach 
differently,  or  not  be  allowed  to  preach  at  all. 
I  think  you  have  made  a  mistake,  not  in  your 
calling,  or  in  your  style  of  preaching,  but  in 
marrying.  I  am  an  advocate  for  the  celibacy 
of  the  clergy.  A  man  has  a  right  to  sacrifice 
himself  to  any  extent  he  chooses,  but  he  has  no 
right  to  sacrifice  his  wife  and  children.  No  man 
who  is  fit  for  our  ministry,  at  the  present  time, 
ought  to  marry,  unless  he  is  rich,  marries  a  rich 
wife,  or  has   some  commanding  intellectual  or 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  189 

social  position  which  will  secure  his  indepeu- 
dence.  In  other  denominations,  where  all  is 
routine,  creed,  and  liturgy,  things  may  go  on 
indefinitely,  as  they  do  now  ;  but  with  us  there 
must  be  some  great  change  before  pulpits  and 
pews  come  into  right  or  peaceful  relations  to 
each  other,  or  before  either  party  can  get  the 
benefits  of  that  individualism  on  which  our 
whole  system  of  religious  thought  and  action  is 
founded." 

Here  was  something  for  me  to  consider. 
Here  was  a  wise,  liberal,  practical  layman, 
who,  from  the  outside,  saw  the  whole  mat- 
ter in  its  true  light.  He  saw  that  we  had 
planted  ourselves  on  a  new  principle,  and  that 
in  proportion  as  we  were  true  to  it  we  should 
come  in  conflict  with  the  world ;  tliat  no  prog- 
ress could  be  made  on  the  peace  of  mental 
indifference,  or  the  peace  of  spiritual  despotism  : 
that  those  who  see  clearly  and  feel  deeply  the 
great  issues  of  this  conflict  must  now,  as  ever, 
go  before,  bearing  the  cross,  and  wearing  the 
crown  of  thorns.  Personally,  I  had  a  right 
to  do,  dare,  and  suffer  as  I  pleased,  but  I 
had  no  right  to  sacrifice  others.     This  was  a 


140  AS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

long,  and  to  me,  extremely  interesting  conver- 
sation, from  tlie  intimate  knowledge  which  this 
very  intelligent  layman  seemed  to  have  of  the 
real  difficulties  of  any  progressive  reform  min- 
istry 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  141 


XVI. 

About  this  time  an  old  friend  and  former 
parishioner  became  president  of  a  promising 
Western  college,  and  offered  me  what  we  both 
thought  in  many  respects  a  good  situation  there. 
It  would  give  me  a  permanent  home,  and,  what 
was  becoming  still  more  important,  the  educa- 
tion of  my  children  without  any  necessity  of 
leaving  my  profession.  Its  acceptance  involved 
the  sacrifice  of  much  that  was  personally  near 
and  dear  to  us  all ;  but  we  did  not  hesitate  to 
go,  thinking  that  now  we  should  have  something 
to  depend  upon  more  stable,  more  independent 
of  all  sects  and  parties.  It  was  a  long  journey. 
I  had  never  been  in  any  part  of  the  great  West, 
and  like  most  Eastern  people  thought  of  it  as  a 
kind  of  paradise  where  we  were  to  be  free  from 
many  of  the  evils  which  we  experience  in  New 
England. 

A  greater  and  more  general  mistake  was 
never  made.  Each  section  has  its  advantages 
and  disadvantages.     But  for  a  poor  man,  with 


142  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

cultivated  tastes  and  studious  habits,  the  pre- 
ponderance is  altogether  in  favor  of  the  East.* 
Every  thing  was  so  new,  unfinished,  unsettled, 
and  disorderly,  that  I  was  at  first  much  dis- 
turbed and  disappointed.  It  was  very  hard  for 
me  to  get  accustomed  to  duties  so  much  out  of 
the  range  of  my  experience,  and  yet  no  sooner 
had  I  done  so  and  got  reconciled  to  the  great 
change  than  the  college  failed,  a  total  change 
was  made  in  my  department,  my  office  was 
abolished,  my  friend,  the  president,  died,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  come  away.  Here  was  my 
failure  number  four,  the  greatest  of  all.  Our 
travelling  and  moving  expenses  were  paid ;  but 
what  compensation  for  such  a  year's  life  was 
this? 

In  taking  this  position  I  had  not  left  my 
profession ;  had  started  a  liberal  society  at  the 
capital  of  the  State,  seventy-five  miles  distant ; 
had  gone  there  Saturday  nights,  returning  Mon- 
day mornings :  but  the  movement,  after  several 
months'  trial,  was  not  successful  enough  to 
warrant  my  removal  there.  Hence  the  old 
question  again.  Whither  shall  we  go  ?  what  shall 

•  See  "Essay  on  Social  or  Common- wealth." 


AK  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  148 

we  do  ?  more  appalling  than  ever  now,  as  we 
were  so  far  away  and  where  we  were  so  little 
known.  In  these  circumstances,  at  my  time  of 
life,  this  trial  seemed  to  me  greater  than  I  could 
bear.  I  knew  by  former  experience  at  R.,  N., 
and  E.  that  the  public  never  stopped  to  inquire 
or  call  for  the  causes  of  individual  failure  ;  that 
it  recognizes  and  worships  only  success.  It  is 
always  easier  to  suppose  the  former  lies  in  some 
special  unfitness  or  general  want  of  capacity. 
All  my  acquaintance  and  friends  were  in  the 
East,  and  back  here  I  came  to  begin  again  with 
the  additional  burden  of  another  failure.  Rented 
a  house  in  the  old  neighborhood  where  we  went 
when  we  left  N.,  and  there  spent  another  awful 
winter  in  the  same  way.  The  same  old  war- 
ories  of  sect  and  party  were  louder  and  shriller 
than  ever.  The  period  was  just  preceding  one 
of  our  presidential  elections,  when  all  the  worst 
elements  of  American  society  were  let  loose,  and 
called  into  active  service  by  the  most  unscrupu- 
lous partisans,  when  everybody  seems  to  get 
crazy  with  excitement  about  things  of  small 
consequence  and  smaller  men,  on  the  election  of 
whom  they  make  the  salvation  of  the  country 


144  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

to  depend.  This  year  the  old  words  were  used 
with  such  bitterness  that  it  seemed  to  me  they 
must  he  immediately  followed  by  blows. 

I  had  been  absent  from  New  England  eighteen 
months,  had  seen  much  of  the  Great  West,  and 
found  that  this  ocean  of  land  had  an  eflFect  on 
my  mind  similar  to  the  ocean  of  water  as  before 
described  at  N.  Every  thing  was  so  free,  and 
on  such  a  large  scale,  that  I  found  in  all  a  sense 
of  mental  repose  which  kept  small  things  from 
seeming  great.  I  had  in  these  new  scenes  been 
occupied  with  new  cares  and  duties  ;  and  when 
I  came  back  here,  unaffected  by  the  prevalent 
insanities,  I  found  myself  alone  and  of  no  con- 
sequence. ■  In  private  discussions,  in  public 
meetings,  everywhere,  there  was  an  overwhelm- 
ing amount  of  intolerance,  of  angry,  personal 
feeling,  in  Church  and  State. 

This  condition  of  the  public  mind  led  me  to 
prepare  a  discourse  on  the  subject  of  hospitality 
in  general,  and  mental  hospitality  in  particular. 
The  first  opportunity  for  delivering  it  occurred 
in  the  neighborhood  where  the  great  excitement 
about  witchcraft  commenced. 

I  spoke  of  hospitality  in  Bible  times  and  Ori- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  145 

ental  countries,  of  that  wMch  is  still  displayed 
in  our  new  States  and  sparsely  populated  regions 
of  the  great  West,  and  which  was  passing  away 
with  the  multiplication  of  inhabitants,  with  the 
improvements  of  the  arts,  with  the  diffusion  of 
the  conveniences  of  life,  with  the  increased  fa- 
cilities for  travelling,  and  all  the  public  accom- 
modations which  follow  in  the  train  of  a  higher 
civilization.  Next,  when  invitations  are  ex- 
tended to  friends,  acquaintance,  and  neighbors 
to  join  in  social  festivities,  feasts,  or  the  luxuries 
of  the  table ;  when  those  persons  are  called  hos- 
pitable who  frequently  entertain  in  this  way. 
Then  it  is  luxury,  variety,  and  profusion  of  food. 
This  period  is  mostly  distinguished  by  its  physi- 
cal life,  yet  one  in  which  good  food  is  a  rarity. 
But  as  physical  luxuries  become  common,  this 
form  of  hospitality  passes  away  like  the  other. 

When  people  generally  have  an  abundance  of 
as  good  food  every  day  as  they  want,  this  kind 
of  entertainment  takes  a  very  subordinate  place. 
When  the  physical  wants  are  supplied,  it  is  no 
longer  either  a  luxury  or  a  necessity,  and  so 
no  longer  real  hospitality.  This  good  old  word 
comes  to  have  a  far  deeper  and  more  sacred 
7  J 


J46  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

meaning  in  these  later  times.  As  men  improve 
their  mental  and  spiritual  condition,  or  have 
these  new  kinds  of  wants  to  be  supplied,  a 
mental  and  spiritual  hospitality  takes  the  place 
of  that  which  we  hate  noticed.  People  come 
together,  not  for  eating  and  drinking,  but  for 
the  pleasure  and  benefit  of  each  other's  dis- 
course and  society.  They  are  entertained  by 
wit  and  wisdom  instead  of  meat  and  pastry. 
The  hosts  share  their  mental  stores  with  their 
guests  as  freely,  or  with  the  same  hospitable 
feeling,  as  the  solitary  families  of  the  East  share 
their  food  and  lodgings  with  the  hungry  and 
weary  stranger.  Or  they  may  merely  give  their 
guests  the  means  of  entertaining  each  other. 
Thus  the  principle  is  ever  the  same,  and  there 
is  ever  about  the  same  amount  of  this  kind, 
humane,  free,  and  generous  entertainment  of 
one  by  another ;  but  its  form  is  ever  changing 
according  to  the  condition  and  wants  of  men. 

The  most  advanced  portions  of  society  here 
in  New  England  have  reached  a  period  in  which 
they  feel  the  want  of  mental  hospitality.  They 
feel  the  need  of  something  more  than  the  com- 
monplace frivolities  and  conventionalities  of  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  147 

fashionable  party.  The  iipholste:fer  ami  cook 
can  no  longer  entertain  them.  They  feel  the 
need  of  a  freer,  more  elevating  and  instructive 
social  intercourse ;  and  those  are  now  the  most 
truly  hospitable  persons  who  do  the  most  to 
supply  this  want.  Hence  it  is  that  men  of 
intelligence  and  high  moral  cultivation  often 
feel  more  at  home  in  the  humble  dwellings  of 
poor  mechanics,  where  there  is  intellect  and 
heart,  than  in  the  splendid  mansions  of  the  rich, 
where  there  is  often  only  an  outward  life  of 
feasting,  ostentation,  and  fashion.  To  this  large 
and  increasing  class  of  persons  hospitality  is 
mental  and  spiritual  sympathy,  and  they  care 
not  whether  they  find  it  at  the  palace  or  at  the 
cottage.  It  has  no  necessary  connection  with 
poverty  or  wealth.  It  does  not  depend  on  any 
thing  which  the  host  or  his  guests  have,  but  on 
what  they  are.  It  is  the  mental  and  not  the 
physical  nature  that  needs  entertainment. 

How  unprofitable  and  unsatisfactory  has 
social  life  become,  and  what  a  means  of  im- 
provement and  happiness  it  might  be  made  if 
we  would  all  exercise  that  true  hospitality 
towards  each  other  which  our  age  demands,  and 


148  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

whicli  is  within  tlie  means  of  all,  — that  of  free, 
open,  liberal  minds  and  hearts  !  But  before  we 
can  do  this  we  must  learn  to  be  more  hospitable 
to  each  other's  thoughts  or  different  ideas  of 
things.  For  why  is  there  so  much  idle  gossip, 
so  much  mere  chit-chat  and  nonsense  now  talked 
over  at  social  gatherings  ?  Because  people  can- 
not tolerate  any  variety  of  opinion  on  subjects 
of  importance,  and  so  there  is  a  mutual  under- 
standing among  them  that  none  shall  be  intro- 
duced. Whoever  expresses  any  idea  that  is  not 
perfectly  commonplace,  that  would  lead  to  any 
discussion  or  rational  conversation,  is  regarded 
as  a  dangerous  person  or  as  wanting  in  good 
taste.  Any  subject  about  which  there  is  any 
difference  of  opinion  only  leads  to  division  and 
strife,  and  so  by  common  consent  the  time  of 
social  intercourse  is  generally  given  up  to  eating 
and  drinking,  to  frivolity  and  display. 

What  we  want  then  is  a  mental  hospitality 
that  will  lead  us  to  welcome  and  treat  kindly 
and  considerately  the  thoughts  as  well  as  the 
persons  of  our  fellow-men.  This  sensitiveness 
about  opinions  which  is  common  in  this  region 
at  this  time  is  fearfully  oppressive  to  any  person 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  149 

who  has  been  accustomed  to  a  different  atmos- 
phere. The  bigotry  of  our  Puritan  fathers 
seems  to  have  become  organic  in  us.  We  no 
longer  banish  and  hang  Quakers  and  witches, 
because  we  have  lost  our  interest  in  all  theologi- 
cal controversies  ;  but  in  the  things  we  do  care 
about,  in  matters  of  sect  and  party,  we  seem  to 
be  as  narrow  and  bigoted  as  ever.  When  I  was 
out  on  the  broad  prairies  of  the  West,  with 
nothing  to  break  or  Umit  my  vision,  with  the 
vast  dome  of  the  heavens  above  me,  with  the 
horizon  at  equal  but  inconceivable  distances 
around  me,  I  could  draw  a  long  breath  and  feel 
that  life  was  expansive  and  glorious.  But 
recently,  since  my  return  to  this  part  of  the 
country,  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  I  were  living  in  a 
barrel,  as  if  I  should  be  smothered  to  death  in 
your  excited,  clamorous,  public  opinion.  If  I 
have  any  new  thought  or  feeling  to  express  it 
must  be  toned  down  till  it  loses  all  its  freshness 
and  peculiarity.  I  must  ask  how  A,  B,  and 
C  —  the  leading  men  in  certain  religious  socie- 
ties or  political  parties  —  will  be  likely  to  be 
affected  by  it,  what  objections  can  possibly  be 
made  to  it,  to  what  misinterpretations  it  is  lia- 


150  A2T   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

ble.  If  the  thought  or  feeling  is  of  a  religious 
character,  I  must  hide  it  in  some  old  phraseology, 
in  some  mystical  or  sentimental  expression.  If 
it  belongs  to  any  other  department  of  life,  it 
must  be  put  forth  with  great  caution,  in  '•  glit- 
tering generalities,"  that  can  be  used  for  all 
purposes  or  none,  according  as  different  circum- 
stances may  require,  and  so  no  offence  be  given 
to  anybody.  Now  what  right  has  anybody  to 
take  offence  at  any  honest  expression  of  differ- 
ences ?  The  great  general  principles  of  life  are 
not  local  or  personal,  and  none  but  the  narrow- 
est minds  could  ever  think  of  giving  them  any 
personal  character. 

This  sensitiveness  about  opinions  deprives 
us  of  the  chief  benefit  of  society.  If  we  can- 
not exchange  thoughts,  to  what  purpose  do 
we  meet  ?  If  we  are  too  timid  or  intolerant  to 
entertain  each  other's  honest  convictions,  we 
had  better  not  attempt  to  entertain  each  other's 
persons.  Those  who  refuse  to  have  our  thoughts 
in  their  houses,  who  shut  the  door  of  conviction 
against  the  truths  we  may  bring  with  us,  are 
more  rude  and  inhospitable  than  if  they  refused 
us  admission.     Suppose  some  of  these  thoughts 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  161 

which  we  freely  and  frankly  express  are  new 
and  strange,  unlike  those  which  others  cherish, 
is  it  not  by  comparison  and  conflict  of  ideas  that 
truths  are  established  and  progress  made  ?  Is 
there  any  thing  better  calculated  to  enlarge  our 
minds,  or  help  us  to  see  every  side  of  subjects, 
than  this  variety  of  views  ?  May  not  some  of 
these  thoughts  be  as  angelic  in  their  character 
as  some  of  those  strangers  whom  the  early  Chris- 
tians were  exhorted  to  entertain  ?  How  are  we 
to  know  this  if  we  refuse  to  receive  them,  or  to 
give  them  any  attention,  if  we  frown  down  all 
individuality  and  variety  of  thought  ?  If  we 
would  not  refuse  to  admit  a  stranger  into  our 
houses  on  the  ground  that  he  was  a  stranger, 
why  should  we  on  the  same  ground  refuse  to 
receive  strange  ideas  ?  Why  should  we  not 
grant  them  the  hospitality  which  they  demand 
while  passing  on  the  lonely  by-ways  of  our  life, 
through  the  mental  wilderness  or  the  moral 
deserts  of  society'?  Why  should  we  not  freely 
receive  them  into  our  minds,  to  examine  their 
character,  and  decide  upon  their  merits?  These 
strange  thoughts  may  be  the  heavenly  visitants 
that  we  most  need.     If  they  are  not  conveyed 


162  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

by  angels  they  may  on  this  account  be  no  less 
suggestive  or  inspiring,  may  come  as  directly 
from  the  angelic  or  higher  world.  Why  should 
we  ever  be  less  attentive  and  respectful  to  the 
minds  than  to  the  bodies  of  those  whom  we 
entertain  ?  While  we  do  this  we  show  that  we 
regard  the  physical  wants  as  paramount  to  all 
others.  While  we  do  this,  the  true  pleasures  and 
advantages  of  society  are  not  possible  for  us. 

We  see,  then,  that  this  mental  hospitality  is 
the  condition  on  which  we  may  have  that  ra- 
tional, instructing,  and  elevating  social  inter- 
course which  we  so  much  need.  Oh,  how 
delightful,  how  refreshing,  this  full,  free,  and 
confiding,  spontaneous  interchange  of  thoughts 
and  feelings  would  become !  How  directly  would 
it  serve  to  do  away  all  our  alienation  and  dis- 
trust, and  cause  us  to  feel  that  we  are  all  breth- 
ren, pursuing  similar  objects,  only  by  different 
means,  according  to  our  various  conditions  and 
culture.  It  is  not  well  for  us  to  confine  our 
civilities  to  those  who  think  and  feel  as  we 
do.  We  may  all  give  and  receive  something 
from  each  other  if  we  meet  on  the  ground  of  a 
true  hospitality.     We  may  find  angels  where 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  153 

we  looked  only  for  demons  ;  we  may  find  truths 
where  we  looked  only  for  errors.  How  are  we 
to  know  others,  or  they  to  know  us,  if  we  con- 
tinue to  cherish  this  inhospitable  feeling  ?  if  we 
continue  to  meet  in  body  and  not  in  soul  ?  Oh, 
we  do  long  for  the  time  when  this  great  virtue 
shall  be  based  on  spiritual  rather  than  on  bodily 
wants,  when  our  new  and  strange  thoughts  shall 
be  as  kindly  welcomed  and  as  freely  received 
into  the  hearts  of  men  as  strangers  are  into  their 
homes  ;  when  mentally  and  morally  they  will  no 
longer  turn  us  away  from  the  door  of  their  minds 
as  if  we  were  thieves  or  robbers ;  when  they  will 
feel  that  sympathy  is  as  great  a  necessity  for  the 
soul  as  food  and  shelter  to  the  body ;  when  they 
will  be  as  ready  to  share  their  mental  as  their 
physical  food  with  us.  We  long  for  the  time 
when  there  shall  be  a  brotherhood  based  on  the 
claims  of  the  spiritual  nature  in  man ;  when  all 
shall  recognize  those  claims,  shall  treat  each 
other  with  the  same  kindness  and  attention  as 
if  all  were  angels,  for  this  spiritual  hospitality 
would  surely  have  the  most  angelic  or  elevating 
tendency.  We  long  for  the  time  when  all  minds 
shall  be  open  to  conviction  on  all  subjects ;  when 
7* 


154  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

men  shall  no  longer  be  afraid  to  trust  truth  to 
itself;  when  all  great  ideas  shall  have  free  course, 
and  be  glorified  as  the  source  of  all  great  actions 
and  institutions  ;  when  no  earnest,  independent 
thinker  shall  be  made  to  give  place  in  society  to 
those  who  merely  echo  the  thoughts  of  others,  — 
shall  be  turned  away  by  his  brethren  and  treated 
as  a  stranger,  as  an  outcast,  with  suspicion  or 
neglect  because  he  brings  new  and  strange 
thoughts  among  them  ;  when  he  shall  be  wel- 
comed by  all  as  a  sincere  seeker  of  truth  without 
regard  to  the  conclusions  to  which  he  may  have 
come ;  when  none  shall  longer  refuse  to  unbar 
the  door  of  their  mind  to  him  till  they  have  in- 
quired into  the  number  and  character  of  the 
articles  in  his  social,  political,  or  religious  creed. 
We  long  for  the  time  when  all  this  mental  timid- 
ity, this  mental  suspicion  and  inhospitality,  shall 
be  done  away ;  wheti  men  shall  everywhere  feel 
that  their  fellow-men  have  more  claims  upon 
them  than  even  the  angels  who  may  happen  to 
come  in  their  company. 

Let  us  do  all  in  our  power  to  hasten  on  this 
good  and  happy  time  that  is  coming.  To  this 
end  let  us  never  be  forgetful  to  entertain  stran- 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  155 

gers,  —  strange  persons,  or  strange  thoughts. 
Let  us  treat  both  with  equal  hospitality.  This 
is  a  duty  which  we  owe  to  the  lonely  and  weary 
thinker  as  truly  as  to  the  lonely  and  weary 
traveller.  And  in  this  age  it  is  a  duty  which,  in 
this  its  highest  form,  is  constantly  coming  more 
and  more  into  requisition  as  people  begin  to 
think  for  themselves,  or  to  seek  that  mental  and 
moral  independence  which  has  been  so  long  neg- 
lected. It  is  a  duty  which  we  owe  to  ourselves, 
to  our  own  nature  and  culture ;  for  here,  as  in 
every  other  department  of  life,  we  receive  as  we 
give.  All  minds  and  hearts  must  open  to  those 
who  exercise  this  free,  confiding  mental  gen- 
erosity. 


156  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHT. 


XVII. 

My  last  and  only  settlement  after  I  came  from 
the  West,  was  in  an  agricultural  town,  with 
a  small  salary  and  extensive  duties ;  where 
all  the  young  people  were  going  away,  and 
no  others  coming  to  take  their  places;  where 
in  two  years  I  had  but  three  weddings,  and 
where  two  of  these  brides  went  immediately 
after  to  make  their  homes  beyond  the  Missis- 
sippi ;  where  the  people  who  remained  never 
seemed  to  know  what  to  make  of  me,  or  I  of* 
them.  There  was  never  any  difficulty  between 
us,  nor  any  sympathy.  It  was  a  mistake  on  both 
sides,  —  theirs  in  giving,  and  mine  in  accepting 
the  invitation.  Our  lives  had  been  passed  in 
such  different  circumstances,  our  experience  had 
been  so  different,  we  had  such  different  views 
of  the  great  purposes  of  a  religious  organization, 
that  I  never  could  see  why  I  should  have  been 
selected  for  such  a  place.  At  the  time,  I  sup- 
posed my  views  and  feelings  in  regard  to  the 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  157 

exciting  topics  of  the  day  were  so  well  known 
that  the  invitation  was  sympathetic  on  the  part 
of  those  who  gave  it.  There  was  never  any 
attempt  at  coercion  or  intimidation.  The  pulpit 
was  free,  but  the  pews  were  unimpressible.  I 
stayed  in  this  place  two  years,  was  obliged  to 
move  twice,  and  finally  came  away  because  there 
was  no  other  house  in  town  into  which  we 
could  move. 

If  permanence  of  location,  continuance  in  the 
same  field  of  labor,  is  any  measure  of  success, 
then  here  was  the  fifth  failure.  But  there  are 
other  and  larger  ways  of  looking  at  this  matter, 
other  relations,  influences,  and  success  than  these 
direct  ministerial  efforts.  This  town  was  lack- 
ing in  public  spirit  in  every  direction.  Its  soil 
was  good,  its  scenery  unsurpassed  in  variety  and 
beauty.  It  abounded  in  graceful  hills,  charm- 
ing little  ponds,  and  bold  mountain  views ;  but 
it  was  little  known,  had  turned  none  of  its 
natural  advantages  to  any  account,  —  its  grave- 
yard was  in  the  middle  of  the  town  on  a  coarse 
gravel  knoll,  where  no  green  thing  could  ever 
grow,  its  village  had  no  sidewalks,  its  streets  no 
shade  trees,  it  allowed  a  rich,  wilful  man  year 


168  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

after  year  to  turn  back,  for  the  sake  of  increas- 
ing his  grass  crop,  its  only  natural  drainage,  and 
so  every  autumn  had  been  greatly  afflicted  with 
malarial  or  typhoid  fevers. 

These  things  had  gone  on  in  this  way,  not 
because  nobody  saw,  felt,  or  deplored  them,  but 
because  in  these  small  towns  there  is  so  much 
personal  timidity,  so  much  fear  of  making 
enemies  of  their  few  neighbors  and  acquaint- 
ance, that  nobody  likes  to  go  forward  in  any 
innovation  or  reform.  Those  who  are  termed 
leading  men  are  too  often  led  by  the  fear  of 
losing  position  or  popularity.  Negative  quali- 
ties only  are  safe  and  in  demand  in  such  com- 
munities. I  had  not  been  there  long  before 
notice  was  given  one  Sunday  in  all  the  churches 
that  there  would  be  an  important  public  meet- 
ing in  the  town  hall  the  next  Tuesday  evening, 
when  a  matter  of  great  interest  to  all  citizens 
would  be  presented  for  discussion  and  action. 
No  one  knew  who  called  the  meeting,  or  for 
what  purpose  it  was  called.  But  when  the 
evening  came  the  hall  was  crowded,  and  I  ap- 
peared on  the  platform  to  announce  its  object. 
I  spoke  for  half  an  hour,  about  local  matters  and 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  159 

peculiarities,  in  that  good-natured  way  that 
could  not  offend  their  pride,  of  the  decline  of 
population  and  its  causes,  of  the  strong  tenden- 
cies to  concentration  in  great  commercial  and 
manufacturing  cities,  and  showed  that  if  they 
would  not  see  their  beautiful  town  go  to  ruin 
they  must  adopt  at  once,  and  heartily,  the  only 
course  of  action  that  was  left  to  them.  They 
must  turn  to  account  their  natural  advantages 
of  location  and  scenery,  —  that  they  had  no 
water-power  to  attract  manufactures  ;  that 
agriculture  as  a  business,  a  means  of  wealth  and 
population,  was  out  of  the  question ;  and  that 
the  thing  for  them  to  do  was  to  make  their 
town  attractive  to  strangers,  to  the  city  people 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  spending  their  sum- 
mers in  the  country,  and  that  increasing  class 
who,  as  they  got  rich  in  cities,  were  buying  the 
beautiful  places  in  their  native  towns,  and  thus 
doing  more  for  them  in  this  way  than  they  have 
lost  in  another.  I  showed  them  how  little  was 
required  to  make  this  one  of  the  most  attractive 
places  in  New  England ;  and  then  pulled  out 
of  my  pocket  a  constitution  and  by-laws  for 
a  Rural  Improvement  Society,  explaining  this 


160  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

indefinite  name  to  cover  all  the  various  improve- 
ments that  I  had  in  view.  First  of  all,  thorough 
drainage  ;  removal  of  all  local  nuisance  ;  plant- 
ing of  shade-trees  for  the  streets  ;  enclosure  of 
a  part  of  the  common  for  a  park ;  the  purchase 
of  a  beautiful  location  for  a  rural  cemetery  ;  and 
such  other  public  purposes  as  might  be  deemed 
expedient.  The  proposition  was  at  once  re- 
ceived, acted  upon,  and  carried  into  operation. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  these  improve- 
ments were  at  once  made  by  this  society,  or 
that  they  have  ever  all  been  made  ;  but  I  can 
say  that  the  fever  causes  have  been  removed, 
that  there  is  now  a  beautiful  rural  cemetery, 
a  park  with  walks  and  trees,  a  very  efficient 
farmer's  club,  and  one  of  the  best  agricultural 
libraries  that  could  be  selected.  I  also  know/ 
that  summer  visitors  increase  from  year  to  year ; 
and  that  a  good  hotel  in  the  location  that  com- 
mands most  of  the  lake  and  mountain  scenery 
would  make  it  a  place  of  great  resort. 

Who  can  know  what  is  success  or  failure  in 
any  thing  ?  Who  can  see  all  the  effects  of  his 
efforts  in  any  directions,  —  of  his  being  or  doing 
anywhere  at  any  time  ?     The  individual  may  get 


AN  ATTTOBIOGEAPHY.  161 

nothing  for  himself,  he  may  be  misunderstood, 
persecuted,  and  banished,  but  he  may  make 
every  thing  very  much  easier  for  those  who 
come  after  him.  Is  not  all  this  included  in  the 
divine  order  of  things  ?  And  may  not  such  a 
person  gain  vastly  more  in  one  way  than  he 
loses  in  another?  Is  not  the  world  much  larger 
than  a  parish  ?  is  it  not  much  more  to  be  a  real 
man,  than  a  successful  minister  ?  Are  not  the 
interests  of  religion  advanced  more  by  all  that 
is  done  to  promote  the  general  welfare,  to  refine, 
cultivate,  and  correct  the  public  taste,  to  ele- 
vate the  tone  of  social  life,  to  diffuse  general 
intelligence,  to  develop  the  sense  of  order, 
beauty,  and  harmony,  and  make  people  see  the 
divine  significance  of  common  things,  than  by 
any  number  of  discourses  upon  a  metaphysical, 
theological  scheme  of  salvation  for  another 
world ;  or  any  other  direct  efforts  that  are  re- 
garded as  specially  religious  ?  The  sooner  it  is 
seen  and  felt  that  true  life  and  true  religion  are 
one  and  inseparable,  the  better  it  will  be  for  all 
life's  great  concerns  in  time  and  eternity. 

No  :    my  life,   although  full  of  disappoint- 
ments, trials,  and  failures,  was  not  absolutely 


162  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

of  this  character.  Nearly  twenty  years  have 
since  passed,  and,  as  I  now  look  back  ujion  it, 
go  over  it  in  detail,  all  that  was  local  and  tem- 
porary, that  then  so  disturbed  or  annoyed  me, 
seems  so  distant,  shadowy,  and  insignificant,  as 
scarcely  to  deserve  another  thought ;  while  I 
remember  only  the  soothing  and  inspiring  influ- 
ences of  nature,  amidst  the  variety  and  beauty, 
which  there  became  a  part  of  my  daily  life,  my 
very  bread  from  heaven.  I  think  of  the  bright 
hours  spent  on  the  hill-tops,  watching  the  shad- 
ows of  small  fleecy  clouds  passing  across  the  vast 
landscapes ;  of  long  rambles  in  the  cool,  moist, 
secluded  ravines,  selecting  for  my  study  the  most 
beautiful  ferns ;  of  walking  on  the  shores  of  the 
calm  glassy  lakes,  fringed  with  graceful  forest 
trees ;  of  standing  on  the  cliff  that  commanded 
the  whole  view  of  the  broad  valley,  and  the  dis- 
tant western  mountain,  in  the  long  summer  af- 
ternoon, as  the  sun  declined,  and  the  mountain 
threw  its  vast  shadow  across  the  valley ;  of 
stajdng  later  still  to  watch  the  glorif3dng  effects 
of  light  and  shade  when  the  sun  went  down, 
and  threw  a  purple  haze  over  a  long  range  of 
more  distant  south-eastern  hills,  —  all  tliis  was 


AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  163 

life»  joy?  and  peace.  All  these  are  blessed  heav- 
enly memories  that  more  than  offset  all  human 
annoyances.  All  these  influences  had  the  same 
enlarging,  liberalizing,  soothing  power  over  my 
mind  as  those  of  the  ocean  at  N.,  and  the  great 
prairie  scenes  of  the  West.  It  has  long  seemed 
to  me  that  whoever  could  be  brought  into  inti- 
mate, familiar  relations  with  things  sublime  and 
beautiful,  must  be  continually  making  small, 
chaotic,  disagreeable  things  take  a  more  subor- 
dinate place  in  his  thoughts,  efforts,  and  remem- 
brances. 

So,  again,  the  increase  of  spiritual  strength 
overbalancing  outward  misfortunes,  I  have  come 
to  see  a  wise  and  good  Providence  in  all,  to  re- 
joice even  in  these  last  two  years  of  my  settled 
ministry.  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  went  there,  and 
am  glad  that  I  came  away  when  I  did.  My  life 
since  has  been  very  different,  and  much  richer 
in  experience  than  it  could  ever  have  been  in 
such  a  small  coimtry  town.  But  the  breaking 
up  again,  when  one  gets  advanced  in  years,  and 
knows  not  where  to  go,  or  what  to  do,  is  some- 
thing very  dreadful.  I  know  it  is  often  said 
that  every  thing  is  comparatively  easy  to  any 


164  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

person  who  gets  used  to  it.  But  had  I  not  got 
used  to  this  chaotic  moving  condition?  And 
did  it  not  now  appear  attended  with  more  and 
greater  evils  than  ever  ? 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  166 


xvin. 

Broke  up  house-keeping,  distributed  younger 
children  among  friends,  sold  at  a  sacrifice  some  of 
my  furniture,  stored  the  remainder,  and  went  out 
into  the  world  again,  to  see  what  would  come 
next.  Went  to  Chicago  to  take  a  settled  min- 
ister's place  for  a  month  or  two,  travelled  exten- 
sively in  the  West,  came  back  to  the  East,  took 
the  supply  of  an  important  pulpit  near  Boston 
for  six  months  ;  after  that,  another,  for  a  year, 
another  still  for  a  year  and  a  half ;  and  so  have 
gone  on  supplying  vacant  pulpits,  in  various 
places,  for  different  periods,  in  the  most  tran- 
sient, unsettled,  unsatisfactory  way.  But  I  do 
not  propose  to  take  my  readers  over  all  this 
ground,  or  describe  the  peculiar  state  of  these 
80ci  ^ties,  or  the  varieties  of  people  I  have  met 
in  this  wide  range  of  experience.  The  time  is 
too  recent.  I  could  not  do  so  without  giving 
personal  offence,  and  exposing  myself  to  the 
charge  of  exaggeration.     Nor  do  I  intend  to 


166  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

say  any  thing  of  my  locations,  homes,  or  family 
affairs,  in  all  these  later  years.  I  have  endeav- 
ored in  these  sketches  to  give  a  literally  true 
outline  of  a  life  lived  in  the  most  exciting  period 
of  our  history,  of  my  ministry  up  to  the  great 
culmination  of  the  mental,  moral,  and  political 
strife  of  forty  years,  in  the  recent  awful  civil 
war. 

The  causes  of  what  will  generally  be  regarded 
as  my  failure,  or  want  of  success,  may  partly  be 
seen  in  the  common  madness,  and  badness  of 
the  time ;  but  more  particularly  in  the  fact  that 
I  have  kept  cool  and  calm  while  others  around 
me  have  been  so  mad  with  the  various  excite- 
ments, with  the  political  and  theological  big- 
otries of  the  age,  —  that  I  have  never  been  a 
sectarian  or  partisan  of  any  kind,  and  so  have 
had  no  sympathy  or  support  from  any  sect  or 
party.  I  have  stood  alone,  and  shared  the  fate 
of  such  individuals  by  often  feeling  very  lonely. 
As  an  abolitionist  and  temperance  man,  I  worked 
in  my  own  way,  as  I  found  or  made  opportuni- 
ties ;  have  never  been  put  forward  or  recognized 
by  any  of  the  associations  for  these  purposes ; 
have  had  no  platform  or  newspaper  notoriety ; 


AiT  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  167 

SO,  of  course,  am  of  no  account  in  any  respect ; 
have  never  joined  a  Masonic  or  Odd  Fellows 
lodge,  hence  have  had  no  patronage  from  that 
quarter.  And  in  such  a  time  of  special  organ- 
izations and  special  fellowships,  why  should  I 
complain  of  being  overlooked  or  forgotten? 
I  do  not.  I  blame  no  one.  Let  no  one  blame 
me.  I  was  born  an  individual.  All  the  circum- 
stances of  my  life  have  fostered  my  individuali- 
ties. My  historical  studies  early  awakened  me 
to  the  dangers  of  all  civU,  social,  and  ecclesias- 
tical tyranny.  I  saw  that  old  Rome  began  to 
decline  as  the  individual  became  nothing,  and 
the  State  every  thing ;  that  Christianity  became  a 
compound  of  Judaism  and  heathenism  soon  after 
it  came  under  the  influence  of  its  organization ; 
that  this  religion  which  was,  and  was  intended 
to  be  an  individual,  spiritual  influence,  became  a 
vast,  overshadowing,  spiritual,  public  despotism ; 
that  the  Protestant  reformation  gained  all  its 
victories  in  its  first  half-century,  while  it  was  a 
liberal  Protestant  spirit ;  but  since  that  time  has 
been  smothered  imder  its  old  petrified  forms, 
and  lately  begins  to  find  that  its  old  battles  must 
all  be  fought  over  again.     In  modern  history  I 


168  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

could  not  help  seeing  how  many  institutions  that 
had  been  formed  for  one  purpose  were  used  for 
another,  quite  opposite  in  its  nature  and  charac- 
ter. In  this  way  I  easily  learned  to  regard  it  as 
an  open  question  whether  all  good  causes  were 
not  as  much  injured  as  benefited  by  their  organ- 
izations. Individuality  and  progress  are  here  at 
last  quite  secondary  and  unimportant  matters. 
These  associations  are  rigid,  inflexible,  unim- 
pressible  by  the  spirit ;  and,  sooner  or  later,  the 
idea  is  lost  sight  of  in  such  forms  and  machin- 
ery as  are  deemed  necessary  to  its  advancement. 
No  provision  is  here  made  for  growth,  and  out- 
growth. If  any  person  thinks  differently  from 
others,  or  wants  to  try  some  new  mode  of  ac- 
tivity, he  must  think  and  act  alone,  or  get  up 
another  new  organization  to  fight  the  old  one  on 
a  correspondingly  large  scale  as  his  only  means 
of  success.  Now,  can  this  process  go  on  much 
further  in  the  Protestant  world  ?  Is  it  not 
worth  while  to  ask  if  there  is  any  necessity  for 
this  kind  of  success  ?  What  is  the  harm  in 
being  individuals  ?  What  is  the  use  of  trying  to 
get  everybody  to  think  or  act  in  the  same  way, 
to  draw  in  some  particular  kind  of  a  harness, 


AS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  169 

or  march  under  some  special  banner  ?  These 
lessons  of  history  and  experience  have  shaped 
my  course,  and  will  explain  my  isolated  position. 
In  the  early  Channing  school  of  religious  thought 
I  learned  to  prize  and  guard  my  spiritual  free- 
dom as  the  most  precious  and  essential  means 
of  individual  growth  and  progress.  I  also  there 
learned  that  the  chief  power  of  religion  in  gen- 
eral, and  of  Christianity  in  particular,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  relation  of  God  and  Christ  to  the 
individual  souls  of  men.  I  have  believed  in 
these  things,  and  acted  upon  them,  all  the  way 
through ;  and  if  I  wished  any  classification  I 
would  claim  to  be  an  old-fashioned  Unitarian. 
I  would  make  this  claim  spiritually,  without  re- 
gard to  any  theological  positions  or  definitions, 
of  that  period  or  the  present.  And  yet  I  have 
been  driven  about,  from  place  to  place,  through 
all  these  later  years,  by  the  cry  of  Transcenden- 
talism, Parkerism,  Rationalism,  and  Radicalism. 
Who  has  changed,  that  this  should  be  so  ?  I 
have  made  progress  in  the  development  and 
application  of  great  original  principles,  because 
I  was  personally  free ;  and  according  to  those 
very  principles,  and  the  examples  of  those  who 


170  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

taught  them,  was  bound  to  do  so ;  but  such 
progress  does  not  imply  any  change.  It  is  all 
in  the  same  line  of  thought  and  duty.  Has 
there  not  been  a  reaction  somewhere  towards 
spiritual  bondage,  towards  ecclesiastical  shib- 
boleths and  sectarian  machinery  ?  It  certainly 
would  do  no  harm  if  the  present  generation 
would  read  the  solemn  and  oft-repeated  warn- 
ings of  the  fathers  in  regard  to  all  these  dangers. 
What  is  individual  or  collective  success  for 
the  minister  ?  Is  it  to  be  distinguished,  —  to  be 
a  leading,  popular  man  in  his  denomination  ?  Is 
it  to  be  petted  and  cosseted  in  his  society  ?  —  or 
to  keep  its  peace  and  quiet,  and  secure  his  own 
position,  by  ignoring  all  subjects  on  which  there 
is  any  great  difference  of  opinion  ?  Several 
months  after  I  had  been  turned  away  from  R. 
I  met  my  successor,  who  told  me  he  had  no 
trouble  with  the  old  society,  —  thought  I  must 
have  been  imprudent ;  that  no  minister  ought  to 
risk  his  general  influence  for  special  purposes ; 
and  so  on  to  the  end  of  these  commonplace 
utterances.  Soon  after  this  conversation  I  met 
my  old  friend,  Samuel  J.  May  (everybody's 
friend),  and   asked   him  how was  getting 


AX   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  171 

along  in  my  old  society.  His  reply  was,  "  He 
is  very  popular.  There  is  no  trouble  there  now. 
He  does  well  all  he  undertakes  to  do,  he  is 
admirable  for  the  puttering  work  of  the  parish ; " 
and  then  added,  in  his  serious  and  inimitable  way, 
"  There  are  only  two  kinds  of  ministers,  —  those 
born  to  minister^  and  those  born  to  he  ministered 
untoy 

Here  is  a  generalization  which  goes  directly 
to  the  root  of  this  whole  matter.  Hence  nothing 
more  needs  to  be  added. 

Now  what  is  collective  success,  or  the  one 
great  purpose  of  religious  societies  ?  .  Is  it  to 
build  a  great  and  costly  church,  that  shall  rival 
all  others  in  town  ?  Is  it  to  become  more 
respectable  than  others  in  numbers  and  social 
position  ?  Is  it  to  glorify  their  denomination,  or 
rival  the  great  sects  that  are  already  so  numer- 
ous and  powerful  ?  In  other  words,  is  that  the 
best  religious  society,  or  in  the  best  condition, 
that  subordinates  and  sacrifices  every  thing  to  its 
own  organizations  ? 

Or,  on  the  other  hand,  is  it  to  promote 
individual  growth  and  culture ;  to  stimulate,  ex- 
pand, and  satisfy  inquiring  minds ;  to  strengthen 


1T2  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

and  build  up  personal  thought  and  spiritual 
life  ?  and  thus  to  enlarge  the  views,  liberalize 
and  raise  the  tone  of  the  whole  public  mind  and 
heart  in  every  direction?  In  other  words, 
again,  is  it  to  raise  public  character,  or  denomi- 
national capital? 

It  may  here  be  answered  that  this  question  is 
not  fairly  put,  that  I  seem  not  to  recognize  the 
advantages  of  organization  and  co-operation, 
that  a  religious  society  may  have  both  of  these 
objects,  and  that  they  are  not  at  all  incompatible 
with  each  other.  But,  suppose,  in  a  period  like 
that  of  which  we  have  spoken,  it  became  nec- 
essary to  sacrifice  one  to  the  other,  —  on  which 
side  shall  the  sacrifice  be  made  ?  This  is  the 
real  practical  test  question,  that  comes  oftener 
than  we  think,  in  all  times  and  places. 

This  question  came  to  me  in  this  distinct  form 
early  in  my  ministry,  and  I  have  through  these 
many  years  had  to  repeat  it  much  more  fre- 
quently than  I  have  told  the  reader  in  these 
sketches. 

I  murmur  not  at  what  it  has  cost  me  in  ihany 
ways.  I  have  reaped  as  I  have  sown.  I  have 
done  as  I  intended ;   so  my  life  has  not  been  a 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  173 

failure  anywhere.  It  has  done  me  good  ;  and 
only  so  far  has  it  been  a  means  of  good  to  the 
many  others  with  whom  I  have  been  in  intimate 
public  and  personal  relations.  We  can  give 
only  as  we  get.  Our  doing  is  never  more 
than  our  being.  I  make  no  complaint  of  other 
ministers.  We  are  so  differently  constituted,  so 
differently  educated,  and  placed  in  such  different 
circumstances,  that  we  can  hardly  make  suffi- 
cient allowance  for  our  diversities  of  character. 
I  make  no  complaint  of  reUgious  societies,  for 
I  have  had  experience  enough  among  them  to 
know  that  they  are  open  to  the  same  objection 
as  corporations  in  general.  They  are  not  respon- 
sible. They  have  no  souls.  They  will  do  in 
their  corporate  capacity  what  every  individual 
of  them  would  be  ashamed  to  do  as  a  private 
citizen.  Do  I  not  know  what  small  minorities, 
what  little  unscrupulous  factions  often  control 
them?  How  many  excellent,  devoted,  long- 
tried  ministers  have  been  sacrificed  by  nine- 
tenths  of  their  members  to  concihate  and 
retain  less  than  one-tenth,  —  and  these  often 
of  the  most  bigoted  and  overbearing  character ! 
How  often  have  I  seen  the  best  people,  in  those 


174  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

societies  the  most  liberal  and  progressive,  giving 
up  every  thing  to  the  worst  and  most  illiberal, 
for  the  sake  of  a  peace  and  harmony  which  they 
never  get!  How  often  have  I  seen  the  old 
national  compromises  with  slavery  acted  over 
again  here  with  similar  results  I  There  is  and 
can  be  no  peace  with  despotism  of  any  kind  but 
that  of  death  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

Many  years  ago  I  prepared  a  popular  lecture 
on  Methods  of  Study,  with  the  purpose  of  show- 
ing how  much  easier  it  was  to  understand  the 
whole  of  a  subject  than  a  part.  Since  that  time 
I  have  often  had  my  attention  called  to  the  fact 
that  it  is  easier  to  get  the  whole  of  any  great 
change  or  reform  which  is  needed  in  society, 
than  a  part ;  that  the  man  who  goes  a  little  way 
ahead  and  then  proposes  to  compromise  with 
one  who  refuses  to  go  at  aU,  generally  ends  by 
returning  to  his  old  starting-point,  if  not  farther 
back  in  the  same  line ;  that  progressives  who 
compromise  with  conservatives  always  get  the 
worst  of  the  bargain ;  that  they  lose  the  mighty 
power,  the  inherent  principle  on  which  their 
whole  movement  is  based ;  that  as  any  crisis  ap- 
proaches these  concessions  are  more  frequently 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  175 

demanded,  and  at  last  amount  to  nothing.  Gar- 
rison stood  for  liberty.  He  defended  it  as  a 
principle.  From  the  first,  and  all  the  way 
through,  his  motto  was,  "  No  compromise  with 
slavery."  But  our  timid,  time-serving  con- 
gressmen, who  so  often  passed  their  "  final 
adjustment  measures,"  soon  found  that  nothing 
would  do  but  for  them  to  go  clear  over  to  the 
other  side,  to  defend  slavery  on  moral  and 
religious  grounds,  and  help  extend  it  over  new 
States  and  Territories.  In  such  times  a  neutral 
position  is  no  position  at  all.  Those  who  go 
half-way  where  a  principle  is  involved  are  just 
as  much  disliked,  and  called  just  as  hard  names 
as  those  who  go  the  whole  way ;  who  at  first 
and  always  demand  all  that  their  movement 
includes,  and  will  take  nothing  less.  Tem- 
porary expediency,  and  partial  compromise, 
have  been  the  two  gi'cat  curses  of  the  world. 
They  are  always  atheistical  in  their  character, 
always  presenting  false  issues,  always  leading 
men  to  choose  between  evils,  instead  of  between 
good  and  evil,  to  trust  in  their  political  and 
ecclesiastical  machinery  rather  than  in  the  great 
laws  or  principles  of  the   divine   government. 


176  AN  AUTOBIOGBAPHY. 

The  church  seems  to  leam  nothing  from  the 
experience  of  the  world,  from  the  great  lessons 
of  human  history.  When  will  it  see  that  there 
is  no  real  victory,  no  real  strength  or  security 
except  in  principles,  no  real  expediency  but  in 
the  true  and  the  right,  in  all  things  ? 

And  now,  after  all  this  experience,  can  the 
reader  of  this  story  wonder  that  I  should  so 
hate  every  thing  which  demands  the  sacrifice  of 
all  personal  qualities  of  character ;  of  indepen- 
dence of  thought ;  of  moral  courage  to  stand  up 
for  individual  conviction;  of  all  heroic  doing 
and  daring ;  of  all  true  bravery  and  noble  man- 
liness ? 


AS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  177 


XIX. 

After  all  the  organizations  of  this  time,  for  all 
kinds  of  purposes,  we  need  one  more  as  a  pro- 
tection against  the  others.  There  has  been 
recently  established  in  Boston  a  society  for  the 
prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals.  Its  purpose 
is  excellent,  and  its  success  all  that  could  be 
expected  in  its  earliest  forms  of  activity.  It 
calls  public  attention  to  its  principles  and  objects 
through  a  little  paper  called  "  Our  Dumb  Ani- 
mals." Now  this  suggests  the  question  whether 
the  church  is  not  in  a  condition  to  require 
something  of  a  similar  character ;  whether  there 
is  not  an  absolute  necessity  for  some  new  means 
of  preventing  cruelty  to  its  ministers  :  also  some 
medium  of  public  communication  for  such  as 
cannot,  dare  not,  or  have  no  means  to  speak  for 
themselves.  I  suggest  some  such  movement  in 
their  behalf,  without  their  knowledge,  from  no 
personal  interest,  feeling,  or  disappointment. 
I  have  nothing  to  hope,  or  fear,  from  society, 
8»  L 


178  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

from  any  present  religious  organizations.  I  feel 
little  personal  obligation  to  this  class  of  persons, 
have  had  little  sympathy  or  fellowship  from 
them ;  and  so  my  suggestion  comes  entirely 
from  a  sense  of  justice  and  mercy.  T  would 
prevent  greater  cruelty  in  the  church,  than  any 
I  see  inflicted  upon  dumb  animals  in  the  streets. 
I  would  speak  for  those  who  cannot  defend 
themselves  without  having  their  ability  or  tem- 
per questioned ;  without  having  their  troubles 
imputed  to  a  weak  intellect,  or  a  bad  spirit.  For 
those  who  are  really  thus  deficient,  or  deficient 
in  voice,  manner,  personality,  or  sympathy,  who 
have  really  mistaken  their  calling,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say.  It  is  no  cruelty  to  force  them  out 
of  a  false  and  unnatural  position.  But  who 
that  has  any  practical  knowledge  of  the  real 
condition  of  society,  can  suppose  that  religious 
denominations  have  got  all  their  affairs  so  natu- 
rally and  beautifully  arranged,  are  so  free  from 
the  influences  of  cliques,  or  official  rings,  that 
all  their  public  men  find  their  true  natural  place 
in  the  churches?  Who  but  the  most  careless 
and  thoughtless  observers  can  suppose  that 
place-hunters  and  time-servers  are  extinct?  — 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  179 

or  known  only  in  political  circles  ?  If  Jesus 
himself  should  come  again  now,  or  put  himself 
in  the  same  relations  to  the  same  classes  of  peo- 
ple as  in  his  own  time,  would  there  be  any 
essential  difference  in  results?  Does  not  the 
world  still  know,  appreciate,  and  love  its  own  ? 
Of  course  I  speak  only  of  those  who  are  wor- 
thy of  defence,  whether  settled  or  unsettled. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  cruel  to  sacrifice  so 
many  young  men  to  denominational  show  and 
bluster ;  to  give  the  pubhc  an  idea  of  our. 
growth  and  expansion,  or  to  fill  up  our  divinity 
schools.  There  is  really  no  such  want  of  minis- 
ters in  our  societies  as  they  are  thus  led  to  sup- 
pose. There  are  already  more  than  can  find 
employment,  and  some  of  these  superior  to  any 
the  societies  will  ever  be  likely  to  get  under 
present  treatment  and  tendencies.  There  is  a 
great  want  of  sensational  preachers,  to  draw 
crowds,  and  build  up  sects.  The  rare,  excep- 
tional men,  persons  of  great  religious  genius, 
are  wanted  and  patronized  for  the  same  pur- 
poses. But  these  sects  do  not  appreciate  intel- 
lect or  character  while  they  are  thus  ever  ready 
to  sacrifice  both  to  their  sectarian  idols.     The 


180  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHr. 

church  that  lives,  moves,  and  has  its  being  in 
expediency,  or  that  thinks  only  of  its  own 
expansion  and  glorification,  has  no  want  of  great 
men,  any  farther  than  it  can  use  them ;  and 
such  men  will  not  be  so  used.  They  may,  how- 
ever, remain  undisturbed  in  their  positions, 
when,  to  others,  this  would  be  impossible. 
They  are  independent  in  the  ministry,  simply 
because  they  are  independent  of  it.  Let  them 
be  poor,  obscure,  with  large  families  depending 
on  them,  and  they  would  soon  find  that  it  makes 
an  essential  difference  who  preaches  unpopular 
truths,  and  to  what  extent  they  may  identify 
themselves  with  mipopular  movements.  It  is 
very  natural  that  these  permanent  prosperous 
ministers,  who  control  the  pulpit  and  press  of 
their  denomination,  should  so  often,  and  in  such 
various  ways  intimate  that  the  difficulties  and 
disturbances  of  their  less  favored  brethren  came 
through  their  own  fault  through  defects  of  char- 
acter, or  unfitness  for  their  profession.  I  am 
not  here  complaining,  but  explaining.  I  say 
these  men  have  nothing  in  their  own  experience 
by  which  to  judge  of  the  class  alluded  to  here. 
I  speak  for  the  dumb ;  for  those  who,  being  no- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  181 

where,  are  of  no  account  to  those  who  use  the 
present  system  of  intmiidation.  After  their 
true,  brave,  devoted  lives,  it  is  hard  enough 
to  be  in  their  present  condition  without  being 
called  "  sour,  disappointed  men  "  by  those  who 
know  nothing  of  their  past  or  present  trials. 
I  speak  for  those  who  feel  that  insult  is  thus 
often  added  to  injury,  and  who  from  shrinking 
delicacy  dare  not  say  any  thing  in  return.  The 
individual  is  nothing  to  the  sect  any  longer  than 
he  can  be  used  for  its  own  purposes.  It  is  cruel 
to  bring  young  men  into  the  ministry  under  any 
other  impression.  No  wonder  so  many  fall  out 
of  the  ranks  the  first  year  after  leaving  the 
divinity  schools  into  which  they  have  been 
enticed ;  or  that  ministers  and  parishes  are  so 
generally  dissatisfied  with  each  other.  I  am  not 
here  taking  the  part  of  either,  but  explaining  a 
system  of  things  that  is  victimizing  and  demoral- 
izing both.  There  is  something  wrong  in  their 
relations  to  each  other.  Neither  party  has  any 
wrong  intentions ;  and  it  is  often  difiicult  to 
decide  which  suffers  most.  The  man  who  criti- 
cises, examines,  and  seeks  final  causes  for  public 
evils,  finds  them  in  unnatural  relations,  in  false 


182  AN   AUTOBI06EAPHY. 

principles  of  thought  and  action ;  so  is  not  and 
cannot  be  personal  or  bitter  in  his  feelings  to- 
wards any  who  are  subject  to  these  trials.  Fur- 
ther along  in  these  papers  I  intend  to  say  all 
the  good  things  I  can  of  this  calling,  and  show 
that  I  appreciate  and  love  it  as  well  as  ever,  or 
as  anybody. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  cruel  to  emphasize 
culture,  in  religion,  as  we  do,  without  accepting 
the  fruits  of  it.  We  stimulate  young  men  to 
theological  studies.  We  at  great  expense  provide 
schools  and  libraries ;  and,  in  various  ways, 
show  that  we  attach  the  greatest  importance 
to  a  learned  scholarly  ministry.  These  young 
men  are  told  by  the  professors  in  our  schools 
that  the  object  of  study  is  truth,  that  they 
must  test  religious  questions  as  critically  as  any 
others,  the  Bible  as  they  would  any  other  book ; 
and  after  studying  in  this  way,  for  years,  the 
origin  and  history  of  religious  thought  and  life, 
they  go  out  into  the  churches  to  teach  what  they 
have  thus  honestly  and  conscientiously  learned. 
The  societies  that  settle  them  provide  for  their 
wants,  that  they  may  have  no  distracting  cares ; 
and  thus,  under  these  most  favorable  circum- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  183 

stances,  may  report  to  them,  from  Sunday  to 
Sunday,  all  they  are  thus  enabled  to  see  and 
know.  Now  what  a  waste  of  time  and.  means 
on  the  part  of  these  people  ;  what  a  cruel  blight 
to  the  lives  of  these  ministers,  if  they  are  not 
allowed,  to  make  an  honest  report,  to  carry  into 
their  pulpits  the  convictions  that  all  these  years 
of  study  and  preparation  have  forced  upon  their 
minds ;  if  with  all  the  aids  of  modern  science 
and  knowledge,  all  the  discoveries  of  modern 
Biblical  critics,  aU  the  light  that  the  profound- 
est  scholars  of  England,  France,  and  Germany 
have  recently  thrown  upon  the  whole  subject  of 
religion  in  general,  and  Christianity  in  particular, 
they  are  to  be  told  that  "  the  pulpit  is  no  place 
for  new  ideas  ; "  and  through  appeals  to  their 
self-respect,  or  sense  of  honor,  they  are  to  be, 
by  the  leaders  of  their  denomination,  forced  out 
of  a  sphere  of  life  they  have  been  so  long  pre- 
paring to  fill  worthily ;  even  away  from  a  reli- 
gion they  would  so  gladly  serve!  This  whole 
process  of  stimulation  on  the  one  side,  and 
repression  on  the  other,  is  cruel  to  the  last 
degree.  Let  either  the  Protestant  churches 
cease  to  foster  learning,  or  accept  its  natural 


184  AN  AFTOBIOGBAPHr. 

results  ;  either  subordinate  the  intellectual  as 
the  Catholics  do,  or  treat  the  fruits  of  its 
culture  and  activity  at  least  respectfully,  that 
their  theory  and  practice  may  in  some  degree 
correspond. 

In  the  third  place,  it  is  cruel  to  reject,  or 
regard  as  of  no  account,  the  minister's  matured 
wisdom  or  experience ;  to  accept  only  the 
flower  of  his  life  and  neglect  the  fruit.  It  is 
not  so  in  any  other  profession.  Elderly  lawyers 
and  doctors  are  more  sought  and  honored  than 
in  their  youth.  Clergymen  alone  are  supposed 
to  be  like  certain  kinds  of  pears,  which  horti- 
culturalists  say  are  good  only  twenty-four  hours, 
all  the  long  period  before,  too  green,  and  all  the 
equally  long  period  beyond,  too  ripe.  This 
would  do  better  if  they  were  paid  enough  for 
that  brief  flowering  time,  to  last  them  the  rest 
of  their  lives.  But  no  one  ever  seems  to  think 
of  that,  or  seldom  to  care  what  does  become  of 
them.  Thus  culture  and  character,  all  for  which 
true  men  live,  and  for  which  societies  profess 
most  regard,  are  sacrificed  to  sectarian,  sensa- 
tional expediency.  Those  who  fill  churches,  no 
matter  how,  are  the  idols  of  the  hour.     Those 


'  AIJT  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  185 

who  cannot,  or  have  too  much  self-respect  to 
use  the  popular  means,  have  to  retire  to  poverty 
and  obscurity  ;  generally  unfitted  for  any  other 
pursuit.  If  they  do  not  meekly,  or  m  silence, 
submit,  they  are  tol^  they  should  do  so  for  the 
profession's  and  denomination's  sake.  In  vari- 
ous ways  the}'  are  suppressed.  Some  appear 
on  certain  occasions,  in  seedy  apparel,  with 
anxious,  careworn  faces, — objects  of  pity  and 
charity.  Others  die  of  disappointment  and 
neglect,  as  our  brother  B,,  a  scholar  and  poet, 
who  had  well  filled  some  of  our  highest  places, 
died  recently.  The  contrast  between  their  pub- 
lic and  private  life  is  often  greater  than  they 
can  bear.  Not  unfrequently  are  they  persons 
of  delicate' sensibilities  and  of  cultivated  tastes, 
who  have  long  been  accustomed  to  the  best 
Society,  with  all  its  various  mental  excitements ; 
and  consequently  are,  in  their  loneliness,  more 
truly  objects  of  compassion  than  any  class  of 
persons  with  whom  we  are  acquainted.  How 
many  such  instances  have  I  seen  among  my 
brethren,  —  whose  private  history  woidd  take 
the  public  by  surprise.  And  now  that  ministers 
of  more  than  fifty  years  of  age  are  no  longer 


186  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

wanted,  how  rapidly  these  instances  appear  to 
be  increasing!  Thus  the  piocess  goes  on  from 
year  to  year.  With  those  of  us  who  have  not 
wealth,  position,  or  something  that  the  world 
always  worships,  this  process  is  only  a  question 
of  time.  Thus,  how  cruel  and  wasteful  is  any 
system  of  thought  and  action  that  rejects  the 
fruits  of  such  noble  lives,  fruits  of  culture  and 
character  that  have  been  so  long  maturing  I 
There  is  no  special  complaint  to  make  about 
these  things.  Religious  societies,  as  at  present 
organized,  cannot  do  otherwise  than  sacrifice 
the  individual,  for  what  they  regard  as  the  gen- 
eral good.  They  have  the  instinct  of  self-pres- 
ervation. They  are  so  numerous,  and  so  poorly 
sustained,  have  such  a  hard  struggle'  for  exist- 
ence ally  way,  that  if  they  were  responsible  per- 
sonalities, they  would  be  quite  as  true  objects  of 
pity  as  any  of  their  numerous  cast-off  ministers. 
They  may  have  the  very  best  intentions.  It 
is  only  their  policy  that  is  questionable.  "  If 
we  can  hardly  keep  up  with  all  kinds  of  con- 
cessions, to  all  kinds  of  people,  now,  how  could 
we  get  along  without  making  any  ?  "  —  is  not  an 
exhaustive   or   convincing    logic.     Would    not 


AN  AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  187 

simple  honesty  be  a  better  policy?  Do  the 
real  interests  of  religion  require  all  this  great 
number  of  feeble  languishing  parishes  ?  —  all 
these  great  sacrifices  of  personal  power,  and 
moral  principle  ?  —  are  more  pertinent  ques- 
tions. 

It  has  long  appeared  to  me  one  of  the  strangest 
things  in  the  world  that  Unitarians  who  see  so 
much,  in  this  direction,  do  not  see  more,  do  not 
see  their  way  out  of  these  difficulties.  They 
have  only  to  bring  their  religious  life  into  har- 
mony with  their  religious  theory,  to  write 
plainly  on  their  banner,  "  No  sect,  and  no  com- 
promise." 

The  manner  in  which  vacant  pulpits  have 
been  supplied,  and  the  conditions  of  "  candida- 
ting,"  so  called,  in  a  large  number  of  Unitarian 
societies,  especially  in  the  country  towns,  of  late 
years,  have  done  very  much  towards  demoraliz- 
ing our  parishes  and  causing  unpleasant  relations 
of  rivalry  and  jealousy  among  our  ministers.  In 
view  of  facts  relating  to  this  matter,  well  known 
to  many  concerned  in  them,  but  which  would 
not  be  creditably  imparted  to  the  public  eye  or 
ear,  not  a  few  persons  might  be  led  to  prefer 


188  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the  Roman  Catholic  method  of  administration  in 
the  disposal  of  such  affairs  in  that  church.  The 
bishop  of  the  diocese,  according  to  his  own 
best  judgment  and  with  a  regard  to  circum- 
stances, fitnesses,  wants,  and  adaptations,  selects, 
appoints,  and  sends  a  parish  priest"  to  each  par- 
ticular flock,  witliout  consulting  the  wishes,  and 
still  less  the  whims  of  the  people. 

Substantially  the  same  method  was  pursued 
among  us  some  forty  or  more  years  ago.  A 
much  revered  and  beloved  professor  in  the 
Divinity  School  at  Cambridge  faithfully  dis- 
charged the  functions  of  a  bishop  in  this  matter. 
He  kept  himself  in  intimate  relations  with  many 
of  our  parishes,  their  ministers  and  leading  lay- 
men. When  a  minister  was  desired  for  a  vacant 
pulpit  a  direct  and  personal  application  was 
made  to  him.  Neither  he  nor  his  colleagues 
had  in  view  the  providing  of  pulpits  for  their 
own  transient  occupancy  so  as  to  give  them  a 
personal  and  private  interest  in  the  matter. 
The  professor  had  informed  himself  as  to  the 
qualities,  capacities,  and  aptitudes  of  the  unem- 
ployed ministers  and  candidates  who  were  at 
the  time  available.    Having  in  view  sincerely  and 


Am   AUTOBIOGEAPHY.  189 

with  singleness  of  aim,  the  best  good  of  all  par- 
ties concerned,  as  bearing  upon  the  common, 
general  interests  of  religion,  he  would  consider, 
judge,  inquire,  and  recommend.  His  recom- 
mendation carried  weight  with  it  for  the  reason- 
able and  responsible  representatives  of  parishes. 
Neither  he  nor  they  thought  it  well  to  yield 
every  thing,  if  any  thing,  to  whims  and  caprices, 
where  so  much  higher  interests  were  to  be 
regarded.  He  had  an  admirable  discernment  in  ■ 
selecting  men  for  their  fitness  for  one  or  another 
place.  The  one  whom  he  selected  or  preferred, 
when  he  did  not  name  more  than  one,  was  ac- 
cepted by  a  committee,  and  for  a  period  of  four  or 
more  Sundays  was  listened  to  from  the  pulpit  and 
introduced  among  some  of  the  homes  of  the  pa- 
rishioners as  a  bond  fide  candidate.  This  mode 
of  administering  what  was  thus  a  considerately 
managed  responsibility,  resulted  in  securing  to 
many  of  our  parishes,  most  acceptable  and 
beloved  pastors  for  long  and  useful  ministries. 

Of  late  years  this  excellent  method  has  been 
neglected,  discredited,  and  left  to  fall  into  dis- 
use. In  place  of  it  no  other  course,  that  can 
properly  be  called  a  method,  has  been  adopted. 


190  AX  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

The  charge  and  disposal  of  the  interests  which 
were  once  thus  systematically,  conscientiously, 
and  unselfishly  dealt  with,  have  been  of  the 
very  loosest  and,  occasionally,  most  discreditable 
character.  The  secretary  of  the  American  Uni- 
tarian Association,  or  one  of  the  employes  of  its 
office,  has,  from  time  to  time,  either  assumed, 
or  been  supposed  to  have,  certain  privileges, 
prerogatives,  or  opportunities,  as  to  the  supply 
of  pulpits  and  the  selection  or  patronage  of 
candidates.  He  has  had  the  ear  of  parish  com- 
mittees, or  of  one  or  more  members  of  them. 
He  has  had  his  own  opinions,  prejudices,  likes, 
dishkes,  and  friendships,  as  to  individual  candi- 
dates who  have  applied  to  him  for  information. 
At  one  time  the  person  who  assumed,  or  had 
allowed  to  him,  this  very  delicate  trust,  was  in 
the  habit  of  asking  and  receiving  a  brokerage 
for  his  services.  The  office  of  the  Association 
would  be  besieged  near  the  close  of  the  week, 
by  unemployed  ministers  seeking  temporary 
supplies,  and  by  candidates  who  would  gladly 
have  found  permanent  positions.  The  parishes 
began  to  be  educated  to  a  preference  for  variety 
every  Sijnday,  till  some  of  them,  for  the  sake  of 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  191 

economy,  or  love  of  change,  or  from  mere  indif- 
ference, gave  over  all  desire  to  secure  a  perma- 
nent and  settled  minister.  Meanwhile,  the  men 
who,  by  their  training  for  and  interest  in  the 
ministry,  had  so  far  unfitted  themselves  for  any 
other  calling,  and  those  of  them  especially 
whose  straits  and  sacrifices  made  them  depend- 
ent wholly  for  their  means  of  subsistence, 
upon  the  scanty  fees  paid  for  pulpit  services, 
were  often  forced,  unwillingly  and  unwittingly, 
into  very  painful  relations  with  each  other. 
Those  of  the  brethren  who  have  had  easy 
places,  with  influential  friends,  fond  parishion- 
ers, with  the  securities  and  amenities  of  life 
around  them,  know  but  little  of  the  burdens  and 
heart-aches  of  their  less  favored  associates. 

With  the  methods  and  machinery  of  others 
we  are,  and  can  be  nowhere.  All  imitations 
are  spiritless  and  ineffective.  If  we  only  at- 
tempt to  modify  the  popular  religion  or  theology, 
•  our  success  will  be  only  to  make  it  still  more 
inconsistent.  If  we  are  almost  like  other  de- 
nominations, there  is  no  reason  for  our  being  at 
all.  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  expect 
to  increase  in  numbers  or   strength,  why  any- 


19ii  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

body  should  leave  the  great  denominations  to 
come  over  to  one  so  small  and  feeble  as  ours, 
and  this,  too,  when  these  petty  divisions  and 
universal  strifes,  and  competitions  connected 
with  them,  have  already  become  the  acknowl- 
edged curse  of  the  Protestant  world. 

If,  by  any  possibility,  we  should  succeed  in 
this  way,  would  it  be  any  real  success  ?  Would 
it  not  be  parallel  to  that  of  the  early  Christians, 
who,  by  a  similar  means  for  a  similar  purpose, 
succeeded  in  the  time  of  Constantine,  when  the 
great  historian  of  the  Church  says,  "  About  this 
time  it  was  diflBcult  to  decide  whether  heathen- 
ism had  been  most  christianized,  or  Christianity 
most  heathenized." 

Our  theory  is  that  man,  by  nature,  is  a  moral 
and  religious  being,  has  in  him  the  germs  of  all 
the  divine  powers  and  affections  to  be  unfolded 
and  developed.  Consequently  we  have  in  hu- 
man nature,  and  human  society,  a  sure  and 
permanent  basis  for  our  moral  and  religious 
movements  ;  something  in  which  we  can  trust, 
and  to  which  we  can  always  confidently  appeal. 

In  our  practice  we  adopt  the  metliods  of 
those  who  hold  an  opposite  theory ;  who  teach 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  193 

that  humaii  goodness,  religion,  is  not  only  su- 
pernatural, but  unnatural ;  and  consequently 
have  nothing  but  their  worldly  expediency,  ec- 
clesiastical machinery,  or  priestcraft,  to  fall  back 
upon.  No  wonder  that  those  who  believe  in 
this  should  trust  to  it,  use  it  with  all  their  might, 
and  cling  to  it  as  their  last  hope.  But  that 
we  who  believe  God  and  his  works  are  equally 
good,  and  that  we  have  everywhere  more  or  less 
of  this  universal  divine  mind  and  heart  to  re- 
spond to  our  efforts  and  appeals,  to  help  us  in 
every  good  word  and  work,  should  have  a  prac- 
tical distrust  that  subordinates  our  soul  to  our 
body,  our  principles  to  our  organizations,  is  what 
I  never  yet  have  been  able  to  understand.  If  it 
is  necessary  for  us  to  go  on  in  this  old  way,  it 
shows  that  our  people  are  only  half  converted ; 
or  trying  to  reconcile  two  systems  of  thought 
and  life  that  in  their  very  nature  are  directly 
opposed  to  each  other.  We  have  only  to  feel 
how  little  we,  and  all  our  efforts  are,  compared 
with  our  principles,  that  they  can  help  us  far 
more  than  we  can  help  them,  that  we  are  strong 
only  in  their  strength,  wise  only  in  their  wisdom, 
efficient  only  by  doing  what  they  require  of  us. 


194  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

Suppose  our  societies  should,  by  sucli  devoted 
obedience,  by  sucli  an  absence  of  worldly  secta- 
rian expediency,  crumble  to  pieces,  and  leave  us 
only  individuals.  Would  this,  in  the  present 
state  of  the  public  mind,  with  its  growing  dis- 
gust at  the  way  religious  organizations  are 
managed,  be  any  great  injury  ?  Would  any  real 
good  be  lost  ?  Would  not  a  multitude  of  noble, 
emancipated,  thoughtful  souls,  now  inside  and 
outside  of  all  sects,  be  drawn  towards  us,  and 
thus  make  up  a  larger  and  more  real  fellow- 
ship ?  Would  not  spiritual  crystallizations  soon 
be  larger  and  stronger  than  any  present  secta- 
rian aggregations  ?  In  thinking  over  my  list  of 
nearest  and  dearest  personal  friends  I  find  .many 
of  them  do  not  believe  in  my  theology  at  all, 
nor  I  in  theirs.  But  they  believe  in  and  love 
me,  and  I  them,  in  the  same  way.  The  basis 
of  our  relation  is  that  we  are  each  sincere,  and 
earnest  in  our  desire  to  serve  and  bless  our  fel- 
low-men, to  make  society  better,  purer,  wiser, — 
to  know  the  best  and  truest  ways  in  all  things  ; 
that  we  have  a  common  spiritual  instinct  for 
all  that  is  true,  beautiful,  and  good.  In  other 
words,    that  "  God  has   fashioned   our   hearts 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  195 

alike."  Is  not  this  a  better  and  broader  fellow- 
sliip  than  any  other  ?  And  are  not  the  division 
lines  and  sectarian  names,  growing  out  of  theo- 
logical definitions  and  creeds,  almost  the  only 
obstacles  to  its  indefinite  extension  ?  I  am  sure 
there  are  many  persons  in  all  the  churches,  and 
out  of  them,  that  I  should  thus  believe  in  and 
love  if  I  could  have  an  opportunity,  or  any 
means  of  access  to  their  minds  and  hearts ;  and 
that  this  trust  and  love  would  be  gladly  recip- 
rocated if  they  could  only  know  how  hard  I 
have  struggled,  and  how  much  I  have  suffered, 
for  all  the  high  and  holy  purposes  which  under 
various  names  and  doctrines  Avith  narrow  and 
imperfect  definitions,  they  have  so  much  at 
heart.  What  is  it  that  now  keeps  us  apart,  that 
sows  the  seeds  of  distrust,  and  makes  us  call 
each  other  irritating  names? 

With  all  my  antipathy  to  the  causes  of  the 
prevailing  narrowness  and  bitterness  in  religion, 
I  believe,  with  all  my  heart,  in  true  religious 
sympathy,  fellowship,  and  co-operation.  I  be- 
lieve in  the  Church  of  all  religious,  truthful, 
and  truth-loving  men  and  women  ;  and  I  have 
written   out  these    confidences   mainly  in  the 


196  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

hope  that  they  may  find  a  response  in  some  of 
these  many  hearts. 

If  we  can  thus  believe  in,  and  love  one  an- 
other, with  different  creeds  and  modes  of  wor- 
ship, with  different  mental  conceptions  of  God 
and  duty ;  and  thus  change  the  basis  of  religious 
fellowship  and  co-operation,  from  theological 
dogmas  to  spiritual  life,  why  may  we  not  in  the 
same  way  settle  the  controversy  in  regard  to 
Jesus,  that  is  now  threatening  so  much  division 
and  strife? 

Reader,  if  you  and  I,  with  so  little  knowledge 
of  each  other,  with  such  diversities  of  intellect- 
ual culture  and  condition,  can  feel  that  all  our 
higher  interests  and  aspirations  are  in  common, 
that  we  are  animated  by  the  same  spirit,  and, 
through  different  paths,  seeking  the  same  goal ; 
and  on  this  ground  trust  in,  or  have  the  highest 
regard  for  each  other,  why  may  not  others  be- 
lieve in  and  love  Jesus  in  a  similar  manner, 
without  believing  in  all  he  is  reported  to  have 
said,  or  that  is  imputed  to  him  in  the  writings 
of  his  disciples,  without  believing  in  demoniacal 
possession,  or  several  other  ideas  that  were  com- 
mon to  his  time  and  nation  ? 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  197 

They  can  believe  that  his  spirit  and  purpose 
■were  heavenly ;  that  he  gave  the  strongest  proofs 
of  the  greatest  love  of  God  and  man  ;  that  he 
was  ordained,  elected,  inspired,  or  specially  en- 
dowed for  a  special  work;  that  he  had  the  lofti- 
est moral  and  spiritual  insight ;  that  he  was  the 
greatest  of  prophets  and  seers,  one  of  the  truest 
and  noblest  of  the  sons  of  God ;  and  yet  that, 
at  least,  as  reported  to  us,  he  might  have  been 
mistaken  in  several  things,  and  has  been  ex- 
celled by  others  in  some  very  important  depart- 
ments of  life  and  thought. 

Is  there  any  thing  in  this  disparaging  to 
Jesus,  or  demoralizing  to  these  believers  ?  If 
they  are  spiritually  religious  persons  will  not 
the  letter  of  their  belief  be  always  subordinate 
to  the  spirit  ?  It  is  through  the  faith  and  affec- 
tions of  the  heart,  through  confidence  in  the 
goodness  and  purity  of  others,  that  men  are 
strengthened,  elevated,  and  saved,  rather  than 
through  intellectual  speculations  and  theologi- 
cal beliefs.  This  faith  itself  is  the  ground  of 
unity,  the  one  thing  needful,  rather  than  any 
particular  forms  it  may  take.  Some  persons  see 
God,  or  so^much  of  God,  in  Christ,  that  they 


198  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

are  content  to  look  no  further.  Others  see  him 
in  nature,  hear  his  voice  of  warning,  entreaty, 
and  encouragement,  in  their  souls,  find  the  true, 
beautiful,  and  good  in  human  history  and  human 
society  everywhere  around  them  ;  but  the  great 
central  truth,  in  all  its  moral  and  spiritual  in- 
fluences, is  common  to  both  classes  of  minds. 
Why,  then,  should  there  not  be  the  closest 
sjonpathy  and  fellowship  between  them  ?  What 
but  old  sectarian  watchwords  can  alienate  or 
keep  them  from  each  other  ?  If  Jesus  was  here 
now  and  his  professed  friends  should  present 
their  claims  for  zeal  in  his  behalf,  on  the  ground 
that  they  had  denounced,  undervalued,  and  tried 
to  suppress  all  efforts  for  casting  out  devils  that 
were  not  made  in  his  name,  would  he  not  rebuke 
them  as  sternly  as  of  old  ? 

If  there  are  any  persons  anywhere  who  can 
help  us  cast  out  the  demons  of  ignorance  and 
superstition,  of  intolerance  and  sectarianism,  of 
intemperance,  sensualism,  or  any  of  the  curses 
and  shames  of  our  modern  social  life,  we  can 
heartily  bid  them  God  speed  in  whatever 
name  they  may  work.  Uniting  in  spirit  and 
purpose,  we  can  all  unite  in  building  up  the 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  199 

heavenly  kingdom  on  earth,  in  removing  the 
great  mountains  of  human  sin  and  misery,  in 
introducing  the  reign  of  righteousness,  truth, 
and  love  everywhere  among  men.  We  can  be 
ready  to  go  with  any  class  of  men,  anywhere,  or 
calling  themselves  by  any  name,  who  are  going 
in  the  same  general  direction,  whether  they  go 
in  our  particular  paths  or  not.  But  all  who  are 
going  an  opposite  way,  who  think  more  of  the 
path  than  the  goal,  whose  tendencies  are  all 
towards  sentimentalism,  formalism,  ritualism,  or 
ecclesiasticism,  will  never  rest,  if  they  move  at 
all,  till  they  arrive  at  Romanism. 

These  are  really  the  only  two  parties  that 
differ  in  any  thing  essential  in  principle.  We 
have  chosen  our  position.  It  is  a  very  Gib- 
raltar for  strength  and  security,  if  we  intelli- 
gently and  frankly  accept  all  its  conditions. 
Our  power  now,  as  in  the  beginning,  lies  in 
our  broad,  comprehensive,  progressive  principles 
and  tendencies.  We  have  got  to  be  liberal,  as 
well  as  talk  hberal,  if  we  are  to  be  the  point  of 
crystallization  for  all  the  highest  thought  and 
effort  of  our  time ;  if  we  are  to  unite  all  the  dif- 
ferent parties  that  we  are  inviting  into  our  fold. 


200  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

It  must  be  a  spiritual  inclosing,  rather  than  a 
theological  or  ecclesiastical  inclosure.  In  any 
other  direction  the  ground  is  all  occupied ;  and 
will  be  contested  at  every  point.  In  the  old 
ways  of  priestcraft  and  worldly  expediency  we 
c^n  make  not  even  a  show  of  success.  Others 
can  immeilsely  outdo  us,  go  as  far  as  we  may. 
"  The  border-state  policy "  will  accomplish  no 
more  for  our  church  than  it  recently  did  for  our 
nation.  All  policy  but  that  of  honesty  is,  ever 
has  been,  and  ever  deserves  to  be  a  failure. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  201 


XX. 

Sketches  of  a  life.  As  I  look  over  what  1  have 
so  far  written,  and  think  of  these  manj  years,  in 
the  details  of  daily  experience,  and  see  that  I 
have  put  long,  anxious,  and  exciting  periods  into 
single  paragraphs,  I  am  sure  no  thoughtful 
reader  will  mistake  this  for  a  full  autobiography. 
I  begin  to  see  how  very  sketchy  it  is ;  in  fact, 
how  little  of  any  really  eventful  or  thoughtful 
life  can  be  written  out  in  any  way.  How 
numerous  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows, the  anticipations  and  disappointments  of 
each  of  the  great  eras  of  childhood,  youth,  and 
maturity !  Married  life,  the  birth,  growth, 
illness,  education,  choice  of  pursuit,  separation, 
and  death  of  children ;  home,  friends,  books, 
studies,  travels,  and  all  the  various  discipline 
and  conflict  to  which  we  are  constantly  sub- 
jected, who  can  describe,  or,  in  any  worthy 
manner,  exhibit  to  others  ?  And  after  all  why 
should  it  be  written  ?  Who  cares  ?  In  this 
9* 


202  AX  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

great  maelstrom  of  society,  in  this  great  rush- 
ing, excited,  busy,  and  selfish  world,  where 
each  one  has  his  own  pressing  cares,  and  absorb- 
ing duties  ;  where  all  are  ever  struggling  to  get 
higher,  and  most  have  as  much  as  they  can  do 
to  keep  their  present  position,  who  cares,  or 
can  care  much  about  any  other  individual's  life  ? 
When  I  think  of  all  this,  how  presumptuous  it 
seems  to  me  to  suppose  anybody  can  care  for 
mine !  Yet  several  quiet,  uneventful,  humble 
lives,  written  out  of  other  hearts,  have  always 
deeply  interested  me.  They  have  afforded  me 
the  most  intimate  and  profitable  companionship, 
in  my  most  solitary  and  suffering  hours.  These 
simple,  earnest,  overflowing  confidences  of 
thoughtful,  sympathetic,  aspiring  souls,  meet 
a  want  in  similar  souls  that  cannot  be  so 
well  met  in  any  other  way.  This  is  spiritual 
sociality,  and  all  men  are  more  or  less  dependent 
u])on  something  of  this  nature.  None  are  suffi- 
cient for  themselves.  How  often  even  Jesus 
tried  to  reveal  himself  to  those  around  him,  and 
sought  the  spiritual  sympathy  of  his  chosen  fol- 
lowers !  Even  he,  in  his  most  trying  hours,  in 
his  great  agony,  could  say,  "  My  God,  why  hast 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  203 

thou  forsaken  me  ?  "  That  he  at  tunes  did  feel 
this  great  want  of  appreciation  and  sympathy, 
this  dreadful  loneliness,  is  evident  from  the 
fact  that  in  his  last  hoiu's,  after  his  communion 
with  God  alone,  on  the  mountain,  he  so  directly 
asked  the  sympathies  of  men.  In  this  great 
crisis  of  his  life,  after  the  great  agony  in  Geth- 
semane,  he  returned  to  his  disciples  and  found 
them  asleep,  and  expressing  surprise,  said, 
"What!  could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one 
hour?"  Then  recalling  to  mind  that  they 
could  not  enter  into  his  thought,  could  not  feel 
the  greatness  of  this  occasion  to  him,  he  excused 
them  by  saying,  ''  The  spirit  indeed  is  wilUng, 
but  the  flesh  is  weak."  He  went  away  again  the 
second  time  and  prayed,  saying,  "  O  my  Father, 
if  it  is  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me ;  never- 
theless, not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt."  And 
he  came  and  found  them  asleep  again ;  and  again 
he  went  away  and  prayed  the  third  time,  saying 
the  same  words.  And  no  wonder,  for  what  else 
was  there  to  say  ?  Oh,  what  an  hour  was  that 
to  this  true  Son  of  man,  to  this  lonely,  sympa- 
thetic, suffering  soul,  going  from  God  to  man, 
and  from  man  to  God  again  and  again,  for  the 


204  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

sympathy  and  assistance  whicli  lie  so  much 
needed  !  To  close  such  a  self-sacrificing  life, 
with  such  a  cruel  and  shameful  death,  was  more 
than  he  could  bear  alone.  And  we  are  glad  of 
it.  For  there  is  nothing  that  brings  this  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  nearer,  or  makes  him  dearer  to  us 
than  this  natural,  shrinking,  human  weakness, 
than  his  natural  human  sympathies  and  affec- 
tions. We  feel  that  he  is  one  of  us.  How 
such  a  life  enriches  ours !  How  it  cheers  and 
strengthens  us  through  all  our  hardest  expe- 
riences !  How  it  lightens  our  heaviest  burdens, 
soothes  our  deepest  sorrows,  and  helps  us 
through  our  greatest  trials,  to  see  how  bravely 
and  nobly  they  have  been,  and  still  are  borne 
by  others  ! 

The  more  such  revelations  we  have  out  of  the 
deepest  consciousness  and  experience  of  indi- 
vidual minds  and  hearts,  the  better,  every  way, 
for  all.  They  relieve  every  soul  that  thus 
frankly  overflows,  and  carry  their  quickening 
words  to  every  soul  that  is  ready  to  receive 
them.  They  establish  the  strongest  bond  of 
sympathy  between  all  kindred  spirits.  This  is 
my  own  apology  for  saying  any  thing  of  myself. 


AS  ATJTOBIOGEAPHY.  205 

I  wish  to  do  something  for  others  in  the  way- 
others  have  done  the  most  for  me.  I  want  to 
say  to  children,  and  youth,  and  all  of  my  own 
period,  you  have  each  your  own  cares  and  trials, 
your  disappointments  and  sorrows,  your  various 
burdens  and  responsibilities ;  and  the  knowledge 
of  mine,  now  that  they  are  nearly  passed,  will 
not  retard  or  depress  you.  I  have  had  many 
more  of  these  burdens  and  trials  than  I  have 
disclosed  or  can  disclose  to  you.  At  the  time 
they  seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear.  I  have 
borne  them  through  many  a  dark  and  weary 
day.  How,  God  only  knows.  In  childhood, 
youth,  and  maturity,  I  have  known  so  many 
times  when  a  kind,  sympathetic,  encouraging 
word  would  have  done  me  so  much  good,  the 
word  I  would,  through  these  brief  sketches, 
now  give  to  all  who  in  similar  circumstances  are 
coming  after  me. 

Not  long  ago,  one  bright,  beautiful,  autumnal 
day,  sitting  on  the  deck  of  a  steamer  passing 
down  the  upper  Mississippi,  and  meditating  upon 
the  various  special  events  and  distant  scenes  of 
my  eventful  life,  my  attention  was  somehow 
fixed  upon  a  small  piece  of  driftwood.     The 


206  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

steamer  ran  over  and  sank  it  out  of  sight.  It 
soon  appeared  again,  driven  towards  the  shore, 
where  it  found  a  little  calm,  still  water  under 
the  high  protecting  bank.  It  rested  there  for  a 
few  moments  until  the  more  distant  waves  made 
by  our  boat  again  disturbed  and  drove  it  out 
into  the  main  current,  to  be  again  and  again 
subjected  to  such  various  disturbing  influences 
through  its  whole  course  down  that  mighty  river, 
a  thousand  miles  to  the  sea.  I  thought  of  the 
distance  it  had  already  been  on  the  way ;  the 
side  currents  into  which  it  had  been  driven ; 
the  many  little  eddies  and  whirlpools  where  it 
had  been  made  to  revolve ;  the  many  similar 
pieces  of  driftwood  with  which  it  had  been 
brought  into  collision,  —  and  then  the  whole 
great  lesson  of  human  life  at  once  began  to 
be  seen  and  felt,  as  I  had  never  seen  or  felt  it 
before.  It  brought  to  my  mind  the  elevating, 
insi)iring,  comforting  thought  that  we  are  all 
afloat  on  the  great  Mississippi  of  Providence, 
hedged  in  by  its  banks,  propelled  by  its  cur- 
rents, with  power  to  go  on  or  delay,  with  powei 
to  paddle  our  little  float  on  either  side,  to  anchor 
and  wait  in  each  little  creek,  or  push  boldly  out  < 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  207 

into  the  main  stream,  to  advance  or  recede,  to 
counteract,  or  avail  ourselves  of  its  tremen- 
dous forces  ;  but  beyond  all  this  impassable  bar- 
riers, ever  new  and  disturbing  influences  to  keep 
us  in  an  ever  restless,  excited  condition,  and  fX) 
force  us  forward  to  the  end  of  our  journey. 
Then  I  thanked  God,  as  I  do  now,  that  the 
great  River  of  his  Providence  is  banked  in,  that 
its  beneficent  waters  are  subject  to  law,  are  not 
allowed  to  flow  out  of  their  natural  channels,  or 
to  be  wasted  on  the  arid  plains  and  barren  des- 
erts of  human  ignorance  and  folly ;  so  that  the 
stream  is  kept  full,  and  strong  enough  to  bear 
us  ever  along,  in  some  way,  even  in  spite  of  our- 
selves. Then  I  thanked  God,  as  I  have  ever 
since,  for  the  lesson  received  through  this  little 
piece  of  floating  driftwood.  I  am  thankful,  not 
for  m}'-  ignorance  and  folly,  not  for  the  evil  and 
wilful  ways  into  which  I  have  fallen ;  but  for 
the  thorny  hedges  which  I  have  encountered  in 
those  ways,  and  which  have  kept  me  from  going 
farther  in  such  directions.  I  thank  God  that 
since  I  have  been  so  ignorant  and  wilful,  so  sin- 
ful and  blind,  he  has  not  any  more  left  me  to 
myself ;  that  he  has  led  me  in  so  many  ways 


208  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

that  I  knew  not,  to  do  so  much  that  I  neither 
foresaw  nor  intended;  that  there  is  a  will  as 
much  above  our  -will,  and  a  way  as  much  above 
our  way,  as  the  heavens  are  above  the  earth. 

While  I  am  in  my  present  imperfect  state,  I 
will  joyfully  accept  all  providential  limitations 
and  hindrances,  —  the  fretting  banks  that  so 
confine  the  river  and  the  thorny  hedges  that  so 
close  in  the  true  way  of  life.  I  will  rejoice  in 
the  fact  that  there  is  One  who  takes  so  much 
better  care  of  me  than  I  can  take  of  myself.  I 
will  rejoice  that  if  I  am  afloat  on  unknown 
waters,  drifting  I  know  not  whither,  subject  to 
all  the  disturbing  influences  that  attend  the 
voyage  of  life,  I  am  on  the  great  stream  of 
Providence,  that  will  some  way  buoy  me  up, 
and  some  time  carry  me  onward,  to  the  broad 
ocean  of  eternity.  In  such  an  ignorance  as  is 
common  to  the  wisest  of  us,  subjected  to  such  a 
various,  all-pervading  Providence  as  we  see 
around  us,  what  is  there  for  any  of  us  but 
obedience  and  trust?  As  we  look  over  the 
history  of  human  society,  the  first  and  most 
striking  lesson  is,  how  little  men  have, really 
had  to  do  with  it,  how  feeble  their  influence  in 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  209 

determining  its  main  courses,  or  shaping  its  final 
results :  in  other  words,  of  all  men  have  pro- 
posed, how  much  God  has  differently  disposed ; 
how  many  local  and  temporary  evils  have  been 
overruled  for  wide  and  permanent  good ;  how 
often  selfish  interests  and  animal  passions  have 
been  made  to  advance  the  greatest  and  best  of 
causes ;  how  often  the  feeblest  and  most  im- 
perfect instruments  have  been  used  to  effect  the 
highest  and  noblest  purposes. 

No  lesson  of  history  is  more  conspicuous.  So 
in  private  life.  How  seldom  can  we  see  all  the 
consequences  of  any  single  step  or  new  position 
tD  which  we  are  called !  We  may  wisely,  after 
great  care  and  deliberation,  lay  out  our  plans  ; 
but  some  unforeseen  event  entirely  changes  the 
results,  and  perhaps  alters  the  whole  course  of 
our  existence.  How  often,  in  looking  back  over 
the  experience  and  discipline  of  our  life,  can  we 
see  how  we  have  gained  by  our  losses,  how  much 
better  were  the  ways  to  which  we  were  impelled 
than  those  we  had  deliberately  chosen !  Where 
in  all  that  relates  to  the  external  life  we  cannot 
know  what  a  single  day  may  bring  forth,  why 
should  we  be  anxious  about  what  we  cannot 


210  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

control  ?  We  should  be  anxious  only  to  know 
and  do  our  duty,  and  leave  results  with  Him  who 
has  directed  us. 

Obedience  and  trust  are  the  supplements  of 
our  imperfect  knowledge  —  the  silver  linings 
of  the  cloud  that  "darkens  o'er  our  little  day," 
and  which  will  be  removed  with  pur  progress 
towards  the  source  of  illumination.  Light  will 
come  as  we  can  bear  it.  Hedges  will  be  removed 
as  we  cease  to  need  them.  The  narrow  stream 
of  time  will  widen  out  into  the  broad  ocean  of 
eternity. 

Of  the  voyage  from  shore  to  shore  we  have 
no  concern.  The  future  we  leave  with  Him  who 
has  so  kindly  cared  for  us  in  the  past.  In  deep 
thankfulness  of  heart,  and  perfect  filial  trust,  we 
can  say,  — 

"  Our  Father  knows  what  road  is  best. 
And  how  to  lead  to  peace  and  rest, 
To  him  we  cheerful  give  our  all, 
Go  where  he  leads,  and  wait  his  call." 

If  such  an  important  lesson  as  this  can  be  sa 
extended  and  impressed  by  a  little  piece  of  drift- 
wood, my  life  will  not  be  in  vain,  if  it  is  used 
only  to  repeat  this  lesson  to  others.     Since  then 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  211 

I  have  often  thought  of  the  many  times  T  had 
been  run  down,  and  sunk  out  of  sight,  by  the 
passions  and  prejudices  of  societies,  thrown 
aside  into  whirlpools,  to  stay  awhile  in  little 
creeks,  and  again  driven  farther  down  the 
stream :  but  I  have  been  comforted  with  the 
thought  that  I  was  still  on  the  divine  river ; 
and  that  all  these  disturbing  influences  were 
only  taking  me  nearer  the  great  sea  of  wisdom, 
goodness,  and  love. 

I  have  little  to  regret  in  my  course,  little  to 
censure  in  the  course  of  others  towards  me. 
They  have  doubtless  acted  according  to  their 
light.  I  have  tried  to  see  the  best  I  could  by 
mine.  As  we  all  get  down  towards  the  mouth 
of  the  river  and  ready  to  embark  for  the  other 
shore,  we  forget  our  many  collisions  by  the  way. 
When  we  can  know  each  other  better  we  shall 
love  each  other  more. 

When  I  lived  at  N.  where  I  worked  so  hard 
and  was  so  earnest  myself,  I  sometimes  thought 
others  were  cold  and  indi^erent,  that  my  labors 
were  producing  no  effect,  and  that  I  would 
resign  my  position.  This  feeling,  I  at  laf?t 
observed,  came  oftenest  on  Mondays,  and  was 


212  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the  natural  reaction,  after  a  whole  week's 
excitement.  But  all  whose  labors  are  mental 
and  spiritual  are  liable  to  these  seasons  of 
depression  and  discouragement;  because  the 
fruits  are  so  long  maturing.  More  than  three 
years  after  I  left  that  place,  I  received  a  letter 
post-marked  in  a  distant  city,  where  I  knew  of 
no  acquaintance.  The  writer  says,  "  After  this 
long  time,  I  wUl  write,  what  I  wanted  to  say  to 
you  before  you  left  N.  You  may  not  remember 
me.  When  you  came  there  I  was  one  of  your 
constant  hearers,  a  young  girl,  with  character 
unformed;  and  the  views  of  life  and  character 
you  then  impressed  on  my  mind  have  been  of 
inestimable  value  to  me  ever  since.  You  gave 
me  that  systematic  thought  and  that  definite 
purpose  which  I  have  followed  out  to  the  great- 
est advantage.  I  am  now  teacher  of  the  High 
School  in  this  city,  and  trying  to  do  for  others 
what  you  did  so  well  for  me."  Every  such 
instance  as  this  offsets  a  great  many  discourage- 
ments ;  and  for  one  that  is  thus  consciously  and 
gratefully  revealed,  how  many  more  must  there 
be  unconscious  and  unknown  ?  How  can  any 
minister  know  much  of  the  good  he  does,  or  the 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  213 

evil  he  prevents?  How  wide  and  enduring  the 
circle  of  influences  which  an  humble  individual 
in  such  a  position  can  put  in  operation  !  The 
right  man  in  the  right  place  here  has  his  capital 
always  out  at  compound  interest.  His  spiritual 
forces  are  always  increasing  in  a  geometrical 
ratio.  Much  of  the  seed  he  sows  may  fall  on 
barren  or  stony  ground,  but  that  which  does 
take  root  yields  a  hundred  fold  every  season, 
and  its  harvests  strengthen,  animate,  and  bless 
directly  or  indirectly  whole  ages  and  generations 
of  men. 

This  is  why,  after  all  my  struggles  and  disap 
pointments,  I  have,  in  this  autumn  of  my  life, 
advised  several  young  men  of  requisite  qualiii- 
cations  to  enter  the  ministry.  I  have  told  them 
my  story,  with  many  more  trials  than  are  here: 
recorded,  and  closed  by  saying,  if  I  had  my  life 
to  Hve  over  again,  I  would  choose  the  same 
work,  even  at  the  same  pay ;  that  there  were 
many  things  infinitely  better  than  what  the 
world  calls  success;  that  it  was  the  greatest 
thing  for  a  young  man,  in  choosing  his  pursuit, 
to  choose  that  work  which  in  the  doing  will  make 
him  the  most  of  a  man ;   that  all  the  efforts  and 


214  AN  AUTOBIOGEAPHY. 

sacrifices  I  had  made  for  others  had  done  me 
still  more  good ;    and  that  in  this  I  rejoiced  as 
.  my  true  compensation. 

The  ministry  has  come  to  be  just  what  indi- 
viduals choose  to  make  it :  one  of  the  best  things 
in  society,  or  one  of  the  worst,  according  as  it 
is  used.  If  it  is  taken  up  as  one  of  the  respect- 
able professions  by  weak  sentimentalists,  who 
want  to  be  cosseted  and  "  ministered  unto,"  or 
who  are  content  to  be  mere  functionaries,  to 
run  ecclesiastical  or  church  machinery,  it  is  not 
even  respectable.  If  it  is  entered  by  ambitious, 
selfish,  worldly  men,  simply  as  a  means  of  get- 
ting a  living  and  so  pandering  to  popular  pas- 
sions and  sectarian  prejudices,  it  is  contemptible. 
But  as  a  recognized,  established  means  of  per- 
sonal spiritual  influence,  its  power  and  glory 
are  unbounded.  In  its  letter,  or  as  an  institution, 
it  is  everywhere  on  the  decline  ;  but  in  its  spirit 
and  purpose  it  is  beginning  to  attract  some  of 
the  greatest  and  best  minds  of  our  time.  I  have 
used  it  as  the  best  means  open  to  me,  for  com- 
munication with  the  public  mind  and  heart,  for 
general  elevation,  for  teaching  great  principles, 
for   unfolding   and   illustrating   great   spiritual 


i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  215 

laws,  rather  than  for  special  precepts,  or  the 
moral  platitudes  which  are  commonly  called 
sermons. 

In  this  ministry  I  have  enjoyed,  as  well  as 
suffered,  more  than  I  can  express.  And  I  can 
earnestly  recommend  it  to  any  truthful,  truth- 
loving  soul  who  longs  for  an  opportunity  to  do 
a  man's  bravest  and  best  work,  for  any  pay  that 
God  or  his  fellow-men  may  please  to  give  him. 
To  those  who  are  ready  to  labor  in  this  devoted 
spirit,  its  compensations  are  numerous  and  great. 

It  has  given  me  access  to  so  much  delightful 
private  life,  to  so  many  beautiful  homes,  to  so 
many  warm  hearts  and  sympathetic  minds. 
When  I  think  of  the  number  and  variety  of 
families  I  have  visited  in  all  the  different  and 
distant  parts  of  the  coimtry,  the  familiar  and 
pleasant  relations  established  in  so  many,  the 
frankness,  cordiality,  and  real  hospitality  I  have 
so  often  enjoyed  in  these  visits,  at  different 
times  through  these  many  years,  I  feel  exceed- 
ingly grateful  and  happy  in  the  remembrance  of 
such  extensive  and  profitable  social  intercourse 
as  my  profession  has  thus  opened  to  me.  How 
greatly  ray  life  has  been  enriched,  all  through 


216  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

■with  knowledge  and  sympathy,  gathered  by  this 
experience  of  brotherly  kindness,  confidence, 
and  affection ;  and,  in  my  declining  years,  how- 
blessed  the  memories  and  associations  connected 
with  this  large  circle  of  personal  friends.  I  wish 
they  could  all  know  how  often,  and  how  kindly, 
I  think  of  them,  how  well  I  remember  our 
charming  conversations  in  Sunday  evening's 
latest  hours,  on  all  the  interesting  topics  of  our 
time,  and  on  the  great  problems  of  human  life 
and  destiny.  The  moments  when  we  reveal  our 
deepest  thought,  or  the  secrets  of  our  hearts,  to 
each  other,  are  most  sacred.  The  relations  so 
formed,  the  friendships  so  cemented,  are  most 
enduring,  because  most  real  and  spiritual.  How 
many  conscientious,  cultivated,  noble  women, 
how  many  wise,  large-minded,  true  men,  how 
many  interesting,  lovely,  charming  children  I 
have  met  in  these  families  and  societies,  with 
which  I  have  thus  been  connected  in  different 
places  and  at  different  periods. 

If  I  liave,  in  any  way,  done  them  as  much 
good  as  they  have  done  me,  I  am  sure  I  shall 
not  soon  be  forgotten.  Is  not  a  relation  that 
can  thus  be  made  a  source  of  blessings  to  both 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  217 

parties  worth  preserving  ?  Have  I  not  through 
it  received,  in  all  natural  confidence  and  sympa- 
thy, the  confessions  and  burdens  of  many  souls 
in  as  sacred  and  helpful  a  way  as  any  ever 
received  at  the  regular  priestly  confessional  ? 
And  is  not  the  true  Church  of  God  built  up  in 
this  simple  manner,  in  individual  minds  and 
hearts,  as  hkely  to  stand  as  are  any  of  the 
organizations  that  so  greatly  depend  on  priestly 
craft  and  ecclesiastical  jugglery?  Those  who 
have  real  spiritual  faith,  confidence  in  the  soul 
of  things,  or  in  that  spiritual  nature  which 
underlies  all  forms  of  religion,  can  have  no 
anxiety  about  any  natural  fruits  of  this  spirit, 
can  never  distrust  the  permanence  of  any  thing 
that  is,  in  itself,  true,  beautiful,  and  good.  They 
are  both  radical  and  conservative,  believing  that 
out-growth  is  ever  in  proportion  to  growth, 
equally  parts  of  the  same  great  renewing  process, 
in  man  as  in  nature,  in  society  as  in  the  individual. 
My  warfare  has  been  not  at  all  with  this  natural 
conservatism,  but  with  those  persons,  sects,  and 
parties,  who  have  used  conservative  prejudices 
only  for  their  own  narrow  and  selfish  purposes. 
I  have  learned  to  respect  in  several  of  my 
10 


218  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

brethren  a  constitutional  and  educational  hesi- 
tation or  cautiousness  in  public  affairs,  because 
from  intimate  personal  relations  I  am  sure  they 
are  true,  noble  men,  who  have  ever  been  as 
ready  to  act  according  to  their  highest  convic- 
tions of  truth  and  duty  as  I  have  to  mine.  I 
can  think  of  several  who  have  passed  away, 
and  some  who  yet  remain,  dear  saints  of  God, 
dear  friends  of  man,  who,  without  assenting  to  my 
theories  of  politics  or  religion,  have  been  more  to 
me  in  times  of  greatest  need  than  any  professed 
reformers  with  whom  I  have  ever  been  publicly 
associated.  In  my  long  anti-slavery  efforts  I  said 
not  an  unkind  word,  and  cherished  not  an  un- 
kind feeling  of  the  southern  people.  When  the 
terrible  conflict  commenced,  my  first  and  fre- 
quently repeated  discourse  was  from  the  text, 
"•  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do."  But  this  prayer  I  could  not  in  con- 
science offer  for  any  of  their  political  or  relig- 
ious allies  of  the  North  who  had  been  differently 
educated,  and  did  know  better.  The  sin  against 
the  Holy  Spirit  of  truth  and  justice  is  not  so 
readily  forgiven.  I  have  ever  had  an  easy, 
because  philosophical  way,  of  accounting  for 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  219 

most  of  the  errors,  weaknesses,  and  sins  of  men, 
and  so  have  cherished  the  most  cheerful  and 
hopeful  views  of  their  general  progress  and  final 
destiny.  I  have  found  nothing  in  my  time  so 
discouraging  as  a  want  of  faith  and  fidelity, 
nothing  so  deserving  of  contempt  as  mental  and 
moral  cowardice,  nothing  to  arouse  my  comba- 
tiveness  but  the  common  sophistries  and  hypoc- 
risies of  Church  and  State ;  the  men  who  in 
high  public  positions  have  tried  so  hard  to  serve 
both  God  and  Mammon,  to  demoralize  society 
by  obliterating  the  distinctions  between  good 
and  evil,  or  putting  present  temporary  expe- 
diency in  the  place  of  universal  and  eternal 
principles.  In  these  I  have  seen  the  real  devil 
at  whom  the  brave  old  Luther  threw  his  ink- 
stand with  all  his  might.  I  would  throw  pen, 
press,  and  pulpit  at  any  time-serving  compromis- 
ers who  are  trying  to  keep  on  good  terms  with 
him.  No  forgiveness  is  asked  of  them  ;  no  pity 
sought  of  anybody ;  no  martyrdom  claimed  for 
any  thing.  I  am  devoutly  thankful  for  my  life, 
hard  as  it  has  often  seemed.  I  rejoice  that 
through  all  the  disappointments  and  wrecks  of 
these  many  years,  I  have  lost  so  little  of  any 


220  AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

thing  that  I  now  care  for,  my  self-respect,  or  the 
confidence  and  friendship  of  those  noble  men 
and  women  for  whom  I  cherish  such  respect  and 
affection  —  true,  devoted  souls,  who  in  my 
darkest  and  most  trying  hours,  when  I  had 
most  reason  to  feel  that  men  were  weaker  and 
worse  than  anybody  had  ever  said  or  sung,  gave 
me,  by  their  examples,  the  assurance  that  they 
were  also  stronger  and  better.  In  my  gratitude 
and  deep  sense  of  joy  at  their  approbation  and 
sympathy,  I  wish  I  could  tell  my  readers  who 
they  are,  and  from  what  doubt  and  despondency 
they  have  often  thus  saved  me.  But  at  this 
time  in  this  form,  these  brief  sketches  must 
close. 

"  Let  the  thick  curtain  fall ; 
I  better  know  than  all, 
How  little  I  have  gained, 
How  vast  the  unattained. 

Not  by  the  page  word-painted 
Let  life  be  banned  or  sainted : 
Deeper  than  any  written  scroll 
The  colors  of  the  soul. 

The  autumn-time  has  come  ; 
On  woods  that  dream  of  bloom, 
And  over  purpling  vines, 
The  low  sun  fainter  shines. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  221 

The  aster-flower  is  failing, 
The  hazel's  gold  is  paling ; 
Yet  overhead  more  near 
Tlie  eternal  stars  appear! 

I  feel  the  earth  move  sunward, 
I  join  the  great-march  onward, 
\nd  take,  by  faith,  while  living, 
M7  freehold  of  thanksgiving." 


ESSAYS. 


ESSAYS. 

♦ 

I. 

THE    PROCESSES    OF   LIFE. 

T^rOT  long  since,  one  very  dark  and  stormy 
night,  I  had  occasion  to  pass  the  Boston 
Gas  Works,  an  immense  establishment,  open  at 
all  times,  and  at  all  times  a  most  disagreeable 
place ;  but  on  such  a  night  as  this  all  its  aspects 
seemed  of  a  perfectly  infernal  character.  As  the 
great  ovens,  where  the  coal  is  roasted,  were  one 
after  another  opened,  the  glowing  masses  hauled 
out  in  the  form  of  red-hot  coke,  and  carried  to 
the  rear  in  iron  wheelbarrows  to  have  combus- 
tion stopped  by  jets  of  water,  the  glare  of  light 
on  the  begrimed  and  sweating  men,  the  roaring 
of  the  fires,  the  hissing  of  the  water  as  it  was 
directed  upon  the  lurid  coke,  the  smell  of  the 
escaping  unconsumed  gas,  the  accompanying 
dirt  and  smoke  and  steam,  with  the  forlorn  and 
10*  o 


226  ESSAYS. 

every  way  disagreeable-looking  women  and  chil- 
dren who  had  come  to  bring  refreshments  to 
these  hideous-looking  men,  —  altogether  this 
formed  a  picture  of  which  neither  Dante  with 
his  pen,  nor  Hogarth  with  his  pencil,  could  give 
any  adequate  description. 

From  this  scene  I  passed  immediately  to 
another  section  of  the  city,  and  entered  an 
elegant  mansion,  where  a  beautiful  and  highly 
cultivated  family  were  assembled  for  the  evening 
around  their  centre-table.  Some  were  working 
for  charity,  some  were  playing,  others  were 
reading,  and  the  brilliant  gas-light  made  the 
whole  apartment  so  cheerful  that  the  contrast 
between  this  happy  home,  where  the  means  of 
illumination  were  so  enjoyed,  and  that  scene 
from  which  I  had  just  come,  where  the  illumi- 
nating material  is  made  and  supplied,  was 
indeed  most  striking.  This  evening,  so  spent, 
these  two  scenes,  so  contrasted,  furnished  the 
real  suggestion  of  the  present  essay. 

The  lesson  of  that  evening,  it  seems  to  me,  is^ 
the  one  great  lesson  of  life,  —  the  lesson  of 
long,  tedious,  and  disagreeable  processes,  to  the 
grandest,  most  important,   and  most  glorious 


THE  PROCESSES   OF   LIFE.  227 

results,  —  the  lesson  that  the  cycles  of  things 
are  great  in  proportion  to  their  worth;  that 
all  things  are  changing  their  forms,  and  modes 
of  existence ;  that  all  things  are  working  up- 
ward ;  that  the  humblest  means  are  used  to  the 
noblest  ends ;  that  the  highest  things  are  ever 
coming  out  of  the  lowest,  and  that  thus  even 
the  greatest  evils  are  only  good  in  the  process 
of  making. 

That  black,  smutty,  sulphurous  coal,  at  first 
hidden  away  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  appar- 
ently of  no  use,  having  no  form  of  beauty  or 
comeliness,  appears,  at  last,  in  almost  all  forms 
of  use  and  beauty.  It  cooks  our  food,  over- 
comes the  rigors  of  our  climate,  propels  the 
machinery  of  our  various  manufactories,  gives 
speed  and  power  to  our  ships,  supplies  a  wax 
harder  and  better  than  the  finest  spermaceti,  and 
an  aerial  form  of  light  that  brilliantly  and  cheer- 
fully illumines  our  streets  and  our  homes, 
lengthening  out  our  days,  extending  our  wake- 
ful, thinking,  enjoying  life,  nearly  one-third,  and, 
finally,  out  of  its  very  dregs,  its  tar,  till  recently 
its  most  useless  and  offensive  form,  comes  all 
the  most  brilliant  and  beautiful  colors  used  in 


228  ESSAYS. 

the  art  of  dyeing,  two  of  which  are  known  as 
magenta  and  solferino. 

Now  all  these  highest  forms  of  power,  use, 
and  beauty  are  in  the  lower.  The  dirty  coal  of 
the  mine,  and  the  cheerful  light  and  heat  of  the 
parlor,  are  the  same  ;  but  the  latter  appears, 
brought  out,  only  through  long,  tedious,  dis- 
agreeable processes. 

From  the  scene  to  which  I  first  introduced 
the  reader,  radiate,  under  ground,  hundreds  of 
miles  of  pipes,  entering  every  shop  and  dwelling 
all  over  the  great  city ;  and  this  hard,  dark  coal 
that  these  dreadful-looking  men  are  shovelling 
into  those  glowing  ovens,  blossoms  out  miles 
away,  every  evening,  in  the  purest  and  most 
brilliant  light.  It  is  the  same  everywhere,  in 
every  department  of  life.  In  vegetation  the 
most  disgusting  substances  are  transmuted  into 
the  most  delicate  and  nourishing  food,  food  not 
only  for  man,  but  for  all  animated  nature.  They 
at  last  cover  the  graceful  trees  with  soft  green 
leaves,  and  most  delicious  fruits  ;  the  beautiful 
landscapes  and  gardens  with  tender,  delicate, 
brilliant,  and  fragrant  flowers.  "  These  heaps 
of  garbage  at  the  corners,  these  tumbrels  of  mire 


i 


THE   PROCESSES   OF   LIFE.  229 

jolting  through  the  streets  at  night,  these  fetid 
streams  of  subterranean  slime  which  the  pave- 
ment hides  from  you,  —  do  you  know  what  all 
this  is  ?  It  is  the  flowering  meadow,  it  is  the 
green  grass,  it  is  marjoram  and  thyme  and  sage, 
it  is  game,  it  is  cattle,  it  is  the  satisfied  low  of 
huge  oxen  at  evening,  it  is  perfumed  hay,  it  is 
golden  corn,  it  is  bread  on  your  table,  it  is  warm 
blood  in  your  veins,  it  is  health,  it  is  joy,  it  is 
life." 

This  law  is  transformation  on  earth  ;  when  its 
processes  are  completed,  it  may  be  transfigura- 
tion in  heaven.  Thus  every  thing  that  ministers 
most  to  oiu'  senses,  to  our  commonest  every-day 
enjoyments,  has  its  origin,  its  very  root,  in 
something  that  in  itself  always  seems  low,  vile, 
and  useless.  There  is  everywhere  this  analyzing, 
preserving,  transmuting  power,  which  makes 
dissolutioi.,  decay,  and  death,  in  one  form,  only 
the  means  of  a  higher  life  in  another.  All 
things  on  earth,  animate  and  inanimate,  thus 
constantly  tend  upward,  towards  nobler,  more 
delicate,  and  more  ethereal  forms  of  existence. 

Even  the  earth  itself,  from  the  very  beginning 
of  its  existence,  has  experienced  similar  changes 


280  ESSAYS. 

and  transformation  in  its  whole  structure  and 
character.  It  might  originally  have  been  a  rude, 
unorganized,  moulten  mass,  struck  off  from  some 
other  planet ;  its  surface  gradually  cooling,  and 
its  smothered  heat  breaking  out  through  the 
hardening,  cooling  crust  wherever  thinnest  and 
weakest,  and  throwing  up,  from  time  to  time,  in 
such  thin  and  weak  places,  one  after  another  of 
its  great  mountains  or  mountain  ranges ;  these 
shaping  the  great  valleys,  and  giving  rise  to  the 
great  rivers ;  lifting  up  one  portion  of  the  land 
out  of  the  sea,  depressing  and  overflowing 
another ;  stretching  out  its  peninsulas,  indent- 
ing its  coasts,  and  in  various  ways  bringing  these 
great  continents  into  a  condition  to  support 
vegetable  and  animal  life  ;  separating  and  stor- 
ing away  the  various  minerals  that  were  to  last 
its  future  inhabitants  through  all  time  ;  disinte- 
grating the  rocks,  and  through  this  long  and 
tedious  process,  preparing  the  soil :  and  when, 
after  all  these  long  ages,  all  this  was  accom- 
plished, the  earth  was  in  an  exceedingly  rude, 
elemental,  chaotic  state.  Its  internal  heat,  and 
the  various  gases  thereby  evolved,  made  its 
atmosphere  too  dense  for  any  highly  organized 


THE   PROCESSES   OF   LIFE.  231 

form  of  growth  or  respiration.  Then  there 
appeared  such  things  as  could  live  best  in  that 
atmosphere,  the  coarsest,  most  colossal  forms 
of  vegetation,  whole  forests  of  which  now  com- 
pose our  immense  deposits  of  coal.  Following 
this  came  a  corresponding  animal  creation,  ani- 
mals so  gigantic  in  size,  so  monstrous  in  forms, 
so  terrible  in  strength  and  carnivorous  power, 
that  nothing  but  their  fossil  remains  could  give 
us  any  adequate  conception  of  suCh  monsters. 
All  these  were  successively  swept  away,  —  were 
buried  in  the  earth ;  and,  at  last,  man  and  the 
present  more  delicate  and  highly  organized  races 
of  animals  appeared ;  but  neither  appeared  in 
any  thing  like  their  present  condition.  After 
all  these  successive  creations  and  develop- 
ments, man,  the  flower  of  all,  and  for  whom  all 
seems  to  have  been  but  a  preparation,  had  but 
the  germs  of  the  powers  and  faculties  which  he 
has  since  unfolded.  He  was  the  lowest  and 
rudest  form  of  humanity.  He  had  no  clothing, 
no  shelter ;  no  means  of  defence,  of  supplying 
his  wants,  except  his  hands ;  or  of  locomotion, 
except  his  feet ;  no  agriculture,  manufactures, 
or  commerce;    no  art,  science,  or  literature, — 


232  ESSAYS. 

not  even  a  language.  And  tliese  six  thousand 
years  of  his  imperfect  history,  which  we  have, 
must  have  been  preceded  by  a  still  greater 
number  before  he  was  able  to  leave  any  endur- 
ing or  intelligible  record  of  himself.  From  these 
rudimental  races,  from  these  naked,  starving, 
miserable  savages,  have  come  all  the  highest 
and  noblest  forms  of  our  great  intelligence  and 
humanity.  The  Homers  and  Michael  Angelos, 
the  Shakespeares  and  Miltons,  the  Oberlins  and 
F^nelons,  the  Newtons  and  Daltons,  the  Ark- 
wrights  and  Fultons,  the  Stephensons  and 
Ericssons,  have  blossomed  out  from  the  dark 
masses  of  ignorance  and  depravity  of  succes- 
sive ages,  just  as  the  cheerful  light  and  brilliant 
colors  now  blossom  out  from  the  dark  cofil- 
mines. 

The  great  art  of  life  is  to  develop  such  prod- 
ucts from  such  materials.  These  human  ma- 
terials, too,  that  we  have  around  us  in  such 
multitudes,  though  outwardly  so  unpromising, 
are  all  good  enough  if  we  would  discover  the  right 
mode  of  using  them,  of  turning  them  to  account, 
or  developing  their  latent  greatness  and  good- 
ness.    Every  low  passion  and  animal  feeling  in 


i 


THE  PROCESSES   OP  LIFE.  233 

man,  from  which  now  comes  so  much  crime  and 
suffering,  is  good  in  itself,  —  was  given  him  by 
his  infinitely  wise  and  good  Creator,  —  and  is 
capable  of  serving  the  highest  and  noblest  pur- 
poses. It  is  a  divine  element  in  its  first,  lowest, 
crudest  state.  It  is  the  coal  in  the  mine ;  and 
all  this  long,  disagreeable  discipline  of  life  is  the 
refiner's  fire,  and  the  chemist's  laboratory,  from 
which  are  to  proceed  many  new  and  higher 
forms  of  life.  From  this  great,  seething  caul- 
dron of  society,  now  so  black  with  crime,  so 
crusted  over  with  suffering,  —  from  its  very 
refuse,  its  sediment,  its  scum,  from  its  appar- 
ently useless  dregs,  now  as  offensive  to  the  soul 
as  the  coal  tar  is  to  the  senses,  —  the  Divine 
Chemist  will  sometime  extract  elements  of  spir- 
itual brightness  and  beauty,  far  surpassing  any 
yet  known  to  us  in  the  material  world. 

This  cheerful  view  of  human  society  is  illus- 
trated and  supported  by  all  the  great  analogies 
of  nature.  The  higher  forms  of  matter  and 
mind  are  all  latent,  or  hidden,  in  the  lower  ;  and 
their  development  is  only  a  question  of  time, — 
the  highest  requiring  most ;  and  society,  the 
crown  of  all,  therefore  requiring  more  than  all. 


234  ESSAYS. 

What  long  ages  between  the  formation  of  the 
coal  strata  and  even  its  discovery ;  and,  after 
this  discovery,  what  immense  periods  before 
men  learned  to  see  any  of  the  forms  of  use  and 
beauty  in  which  they  now  know  this  black, 
smoky  rock  to  abound !  And  if  this  Ls  true  of 
this  crude,  unorganized  substance,  hidden  in  the 
earth,  how  much  larger  must  be  the  cycle  for 
man,  the  most  highly  organized  being  on  earth  I 
How  much  longer  it  must  take  man  to  make 
society  fit  to  live  in,  than  for  the  Almighty  to 
make  this  material  planet  fit  for  him  to  live  on ! 
A  thousand  of  our  years  are  but  a  day  with  the 
Lord ;  and  in  all  things  pertaining  to  the  devel- 
opment of  the  divine  nature  in  man,  time  is 
of  no  account.  No  elaboration  of  growth  is 
too  great  for  his  futurity.  The  reason  why  his 
progress  here  seems  so  slow,  and  is  so  slow, 
is  because,  being  at  the  head  of  the  creation,  he 
must  take  all  tilings  along,  upward,  and  onward, 
with  him.  In  bringing  out  all  that  is  latent  in 
himself,  he  is  to  bring  out  all  that  is  latent 
in  nature.  He  is  to  finish  and  furnish  a  world, 
which  God  purposely  left  unfinished  for  him  to 
complete. 


THE  PEOCESSES   OF  LIEE.  235 

From  this  exalted  standpoint  how  easy  it  is 
to  become  reconciled  to  man's  present  condition  ! 
His  civilization,  high  as  he  may  think  it,  and 
much  as  he  may  boast  of  it,  answers  only,  at 
least,  to  the  secondary  geological  formations  of 
the  earth.  It  has  yet  many  monstrous  growths 
of  iniquity,  gigantic,  infinitely  various,  and 
horrible  forms  of  moral  and  social  existence ; 
it  has  innumerable  oppressions  and  miseries ; 
it  has  great  sedimentary  deposits  of  ignorance 
and  superstition,  —  even  a  savagery  which  can 
be  kept  down  only  by  wholesale  destructions, 
by  wars  more  sanguinary  than  those  among  the 
great  carnivorous  beasts,  whose  bones  we  find 
only  in  that  strata  just  referred  to.  And  yet 
there  is  nothing  of  which  we  may  be  so  hope- 
ful, and  prophesy  so  much  good,  as  of  this 
very  civilization.  We  have  only  to  regard  it  as 
yet  all  elementary  in  its  character,  an  infinite 
process  in  its  secondary  and  rudimental  forms ; 
and  thus  all  its  evils  as  good  in  the  process 
of  making. 

If  man  can,  in  the  long  dark,  wintry  even- 
ings, bring  the  light  and  heat  of  his  home  out 
of  the  stones  of  the  earth,  he  thinks  it  worth 


236  ESSAYS. 

doing,  however  long  and  dirty  may  be  the 
means.  If  he  can  extract  and  transfer  in 
abundance  to  the  fabrics  of  which  his  cloth- 
ing is  made,  from  the  offensive  refuse  of  these 
black  stones,  colors  that  rival  those  of  the  rain- 
bow in  the  heavens  or  the  flowers  of  the  field, 
he  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  do'  so,  however 
great  and  disagreeable  the  labor  may  be.  So  he 
should  receive  his  life  here  with  all  its  discipline, 
as  something  worth  having,  as  something  that 
has  a  meaning,  and  a  prophecy,  infinitely  be- 
yond all  that  he  can  now  see  and  know.  It 
takes  up  all  the  past,  and  reaches  forth  to  all 
the  future.  He  lives  not,  as  is  commonly  said, 
for  eternity.  He  lives  now  and  ever,  and  now  as 
truly  as  ever,  in  eternity.  If  he  now,  in  his 
present  low  condition,  in  this  rudimental  state 
of  life,  has  this  power  to  bring  light  out  of 
darkness,  beauty, out  of  ashes,  peace  and  pros- 
perity out  of  convulsion  and  war,  then  surely 
the  infinite  Superintendent  of  all  the  processes 
of  life  can  transmute  all  evil  into  good.  "We 
have  only  to  wait  the  time  of  Him  who  saw 
the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  who  doeth  all 
things  well. 


THE   PROCESSES   OF   LIFE.  237 

In  this  great  series  of  ascending  movements 
all  things  are  included.  The  most  advanced 
nations  and  races  are  sometimes  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  their  high  career  that  they  may  turn 
back  to  pick  up  and  bring  along  with  th:m  their ' 
poor  weary,  oppressed,  down-trodden  brethren, 
as  dear  in  the  sight  of  the  Heavenly  Father  as 
any  others,  to  be  strengthened,  enlightened,  and 
saved  with  the  others.  It  is  all  after  one  plan, 
and  nothing  can  be  left  out  without  disturb- 
ing and  retarding  its  development.  We  have 
emancipated  one  class  of  men  from  chattel 
slavery,  and  given  them  a  chance  to  come 
up  with  us.  Now  if  we  withhold  the  rights 
of  any  other  class  we  shall  have  to  stop  again, 
and  lose  as  before  all  we  gain  by  such  reckless, 
selfish  competition. 

Rome,  in  the  old  days,  thought  she  could  not 
prosper  without  destroying  Carthage,  so  in  the 
conflict  both  went  down  together.  There  is 
now  no  better  established  principle  of  political 
economy  than  that  the  true  permanent  interests 
of  each  are  the  interests  of  all ;  that  all  classes, 
all  nations  and  races  are  bound  together  in  one 
family  ;  that  the  world  was  made  to  go  on  the 


238  ESSAYS. 

principle  of  mutual  co-operation,  and  so  can  go 
well  on  no  other. 

The  earth,  at  first  so  chaotic,  gradually  gets 
moulded  into  this  "  orb  of  light  and  beauty," 
with  its  green  fields,  laughing  brooks,  and  wav- 
ing forests,  its  graceful  hills,  running  streams,  and 
various  landscapes,  affording  perpetual  means  of 
sustenance  and  happiness  to  the  millions  of  sen- 
tient beings,  who  live  upon  its  surface.  So  man, 
commencing  here  in  his  lowest  animal  state,  is 
going  through  various  transformations  prepara- 
tory to  developing  into  the  very  angel,  the  real 
child  of  God,  the  heir  of  this  immortality.  The 
wings  that  form  the  butterfly,  lie  folded  in  the 
worm ;  and  the  wings  that  are  to  speed  man 
the  angel,  now  lie  folded  in  man  the  animal. 
But  whether  we  speak  of  minerals  or  animals, 
of  worms,  or  of  angels,  we  know  that  every 
thing  God  has  made  is  good,  and  includes  in 
itself  all  the  higher  forms  of  existence  which  he 
would  bring  out  of  it.*  When  he  finislied  his 
creation,  we  read  that  he  was  satisfied  with  it, 
and  pronounced  it  good ;  and  when  he  has  fin- 
ished jnore  of  the  developments  of  his  provi- 
dence, we  shall  not  only  be  satisfied,  but  in 


THE  PROCESSES   OF   LIFE.  239 

ecstasy  exclaim  —  Good  and  beautiful,  beyond 
all  thought  and  expression !  Oh,  how  great  the 
harmony  and  beauty  of  all  his  works  and  ways  ! 
Our  psalm  of  life  will  then  accord  with  that  of 
nature,  and  go  up  with  it  in  one  long,  loud 
acclaim  of  praise. 


240  ESSAYS. 


n. 

MAN  AND   NATURE. 

np^O  the  philosopliical  student  of  nature  there 
is  no  more  general  or  striking  fact  than  its 
imperfection,  or  incompleteness.  It  seems  as  if 
the  infinite  Architect  of  the  universe  had  every- 
where given  only  outlines,  sketches,  hints,  of  his 
great  purposes,  and  left  his  plans  to  be  finished 
in  details  by  subordinate  artists.  All  his  work 
is  perfect,  as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  each  picture 
seems  to  be  purposely  left  unfinished  for  others 
to  complete. 

This  fact  is  far  more  conspicuous  in  the 
higher  than  in  the  lower  works  of  the  Creator. 

Fish,  insects,  birds,  and  all  animals  who  were 
to  be  guided  by  their  instincts,  have  those  in- 
stincts in  perfection.  Each  was  made  perfect 
of  its  kind,  and  has  perfectly  done  its  work 
from  the  beginning.  The  first  birds  built  their 
nests,  the  first  bees  their  hives,  and  the  first 


MAN  AND   NATURE.  241 

beavers  their  dams,  as  well  as  any  that  through 
these  long  ages  have  ever  been  built  by  any  of 
their  successors.  All  creatures  that  were  to  be 
moved  by  their  instincts  have  been  perfectly 
guided  into  all  they  could  do,  have,  or  enjoy. 
In  all  these  departments  there  is  nothing  to  be 
added.  There  is  no  room  for  improvements. 
All  things  were  here  made  absolutely  perfect  in 
their  way,  or  for  their  purpose. 

So  of  all  the  lower  orders  of  plants.  The 
Creator  made  them  just  as  he  intended  to  have 
them.  They,  through  all  the  past,  have  re- 
mained unchanged.  We  never  think  of  improv- 
ing them.  We  all  feel  that  they  perfectly  fulfil 
his  designs  in  them.  But  now,  when  we  come 
to  the  earth  and  man,  and  all  the  higher  orders 
of  animals  and  plants,  we  find  this  rule  com- 
pletely reversed.  Here  ever}^  thing  is  rudi- 
mental,  unfinished,  imperfect,  according  to  its 
worth,  or  the  greatness  of  its  purpose ;  and  de- 
pends on  human  care  and  culture,  on  human  art 
and  ingenuity. 

Look  at  this  scene  of  our  existence.  How 
rough  and  rude  is  every  aspect  of  the  earth, 
where  the  care  and  labor  of  man  are  not  seen  I 
11  r 


242  ESSAYS. 

What  taagled  forests  and  desert  wastes !  What 
poisonous  plants,  venomous  reptiles,  wild  beasts, 
and  destructive  insects !  What  great  floods 
come  down  to  wash  away  the  fertility  of  the 
soil !  How  prolific  the  useless,  exhausting 
weeds,  which  add  so  much  to  the  labor  of  its 
cultivation !  What  earthquakes,  volcanoes,  and 
tempests,  to  lay  waste  and  destroy !  The  earth 
is  like  a  cold,  distant  step-mother,  who  seems 
to  begrudge  us  every  thing  we  get  from  her. 
Again,  there  is  not  a  single  aspect  of  nature  that 
is  perfectly  satisfying,  that  is  not  open  to  criti- 
cism, that  has  not  some  discordant  elements; 
not  a  single  high  department  to  which  something 
could  not  be  added,  or  from  which  something 
could  not  be  taken  away,  without  increasing 
both  its  usefulness  and  beauty. 

Surely  this  earth  is  a  very  imperfect  work  for 
a  perfect  Creator ;  and  this  imperfection  itself 
must  therefore  have  a  meaning,  a  purpose  be- 
yond itself ;  it  must  have  reference  to  something 
greater,  and  hence  more  imperfect  still,  —  to 
man,  the  greatest  and  yet  the  most  imperfect 
being  on  the  earth. 

If  we  look  at  him  truly,  we  shall  see  the  best 


A 


k 


MAN  AND  NATURE.  243 

instance  of  the  law  which  we  are  endeavoring 
to  unfold  and  illustrate. 

His  infancy  is  more  feeble  and  protracted 
than  that  of  any  other  creature  ;  and  no  others 
furnish  themselves  so  slowly  with  the  knowl- 
edge necessary  to  self-subsistence.  Man  has 
less  given  him,  or  done  for  him,  than  any  other 
creature  of  God.  He  is  unclothed,  unsheltered, 
and,  beyond  infancy,  unfed.  He  is  turned  out 
into  such  an  unfinished  and  unfurnished  world 
as  we  have  described,  and  left  to  himself.  He 
has  attained  every  thing  he  now  possesses 
through  ages  of  terrible  struggles,  —  struggles 
against  soils  and  climates,  struggles  against  all 
kinds  of  external  and  internal  foes.  Through 
what  ages  of  barbarism  and  blood  has  he  come 
even  to  his  present  condition !  What  constant 
wars,  what  overwhelming  oppressions,  what  in- 
describable sufferings  have  everywhere  fallen  to 
his  lot !  For  every  success,  what  innumerable 
disappointments  and  failures ! 

Now  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  What 
is  the  explanation  of  this  striking  anomaly? 
What  is  the  key  to  this  great  mystery  of  crea- 
tion  and  providence  ?     Why  has   the   infinite 


244  ESSAYS. 

Creator  finished  with  such  exquisite  perfection 
all  the  lowest  orders  of  beings  and  things,  and 
left  all  his  highest  works  so  imperfect,  so  unfin- 
ished ?  Had  he  in  the  conclusion  of  liis  efforts 
exhausted  his  resources?  As  we  proceed  we 
shall  find  quite  a  different  explanation. 

The  greatest  gift  that  could  be  bestowed  on 
such  a  being  as  man,  the  greatest  help  that 
could  possibly  be  given  him,  was  the  means  of 
helping  himself,  of  developing  himself,  of  making 
his  own  world  as  the  infinite  Father  did  his,  — 
the  universe  ;  the  means  of  obtaining  all  things 
for  himself,  aU  things  necessary  to  his  self-edu- 
cation and  self-elevation.  These  means  he  has 
in  his  peculiar  mental  and  moral  endowments, 
in  that  reason  and  conscience  which,  in  their 
lowest  state,  are  far  more  precious  gifts  than 
the  infallible  instincts  that  preserve  and  guide 
other  creatures.  To  such  a  being,  this  world, 
though  so  imperfect  in  itself,  is  perfectly  adapted. 
Both  were  left  in  this  imperfect  state,  because 
it  was  necessary  for  each  to  act  upon  the  other, 
in  order  to  develop  the  powers  and  resources  of 
both.  Man  and  nature  belong  to  each  other  ; 
and  must  be  perfected  together.     God  left  the 


MAK  AND   NATURE.  245 

earth  in  the  unfinished  state  in  which  we  every- 
where find  it,  purposely,  for  man  to  complete ; 
and  in  doing  this  work,  man  will  put  into  action 
the  same  powers  from  which  the  universe  itself 
sprung.  He  will  work  on  the  same  principle, 
and  in  the  same  spirit,  that  has  moved  the  divine 
Artist  from  the  beginning.  As  yet  this  is  not 
done  anywhere  to  any  extent.  A  few  great 
artists  feel  the  dignity  of  their  art,  its  divinity 
and  moral  significance.  But  how  generally  is 
labor  (which  is  only  another  term  for  art) 
degraded  into  the  merest  drudgery,  by  being 
done  ignorantly,  imperfectly,  and  with  low  aims  I 
Practically,  it  is  regarded  as  a  curse,  instead  of 
a  blessing,  and  men  try  to  get  rid  of  it  as  much 
as  possible.  They  would  have  it  done  by  slaves, 
or  think  it  must  be  stimulated  by  the  necessities 
of  low  and  servile  classes. 

Now  how  completely  does  our  present  idea 
change  all  this,  and  make  the  lowest  realms  of 
industry  the  same  in  purpose  and  spirit  as  the 
highest  realms  of  art !  All  that  needs  to  be  done 
here  by  man  for  the  improvement  of  nature  and 
society,  is  just  as  sacred,  just  as  divine  an  effort 
as  it  was  for  God  to  make  man  and  nature.     It 


246  ESSAYS. 

is  all  one  work.  He  who  takes  iron  fi-om  the 
mine,  lumber  from  the  forest,  or  even  olay  from 
the  pit  to  construct  the  useful  and  beautiful 
habitations  of  men,  is  completing  a  divine  plan, 
and  cannot  too  deeply  feel  the  dignity  and  im- 
portance of  his  labor.  Those  who  make  the  soft, 
glossy,  delicate,  beautiful  silk  fabrics  now  so 
common,  are  carrying  out  or  completing  the 
designs  of  the  infinite  Artist  who  directly  made 
only  the  mulberry  leaf  and  the  silk-worm.  He 
depends  on  men  for  all  else,  all  the  variety  and 
beauty  of  the  final  products.  And  though  the 
dust  of  factories  settles  upon  the  laborers'  clothes, 
and  the  dyes  stain  their  hands,  their  souls  are 
elevated  and  purified  in  proportion  as  they 
intelligently  and  consciously  co-operate  in  this 
design.  The  last  process  is  as  important  as  the 
first.  These  factory  operatives  may  rejoice  in 
the  success  of  their  efforts  as  truly  as  when  the 
morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of 
God  shouJ;ed  for  joy,  at  the  creation's  dawn. 
As  they  seize  upon  his  thought,  they  enter  into 
his  creative  spirit,  they  work  exactly  in  the  line 
of  Him  who  so  gorgeously  lights  up  the  evening 
sky,  and  so  delicately  paints  the  modest  little 


A 


MAN  AND  NATURE.  247 

flower.  God  clothes  the  earth  with  beauty ; 
they  clothe  his  children  with  leaves,  in  colors  that 
rival  those  of  the  rainbow  in  the  heavens.  Why 
should  they  not  enjoy  their  work  as  he  does  his  ? 

The  marble  of  the  quarry  is  one  work.  The 
sculptor  takes  this  cold,  hard,  silent  stone,  and 
makes  it  express  almost  every  thought,  emotion, 
and  passion  of  the  human  soul.  Which  is  the 
greater  ?  Yet  who  ever  thinks  of  any  drudgery 
or  degradation  in  the  hard  and  dirty  work  or 
processes  of  the  sculptor's  art  ? 

How  differently  the  humblest  working-man 
would  view  his  occupation  if  he  could  see  it  in 
this  light !  How  quickly  would  he  catch  the 
artistic  spirit !  How  soon  would  he  learn  to  do 
his  work  wisely  and  well,  and  find  his  highest 
happiness  in  turning  out  the  most  perfect  speci- 
mens of  indust  ly  in  his  department,  whatever  it 
might  be ! 

Similar  illustrations  may  be  found  in  many 
other  departments  of  life,  all  serving  to  show 
that  the  difference  in  our  work  is  mainly  in 
ourselves,  or  in  our  modes  of  seeing  and 
doing  it. 

Oh !  we  do  so  long  for  the  time  when  all  the 


248  ESSAYS. 

earth's  work  shall  be  done  by  persons  who  are 
worthy  of  this  divine  vocation  to  which  they 
are  called ;  when  the  industrial  wUl  be  as  truly 
fine  arts  as  any  others,  —  as  sculpture,  painting, 
music,  or  poetrj^ ;  when  work  will  be  done  with 
as  much  enthusiasm  as  play ;  when  the  divine 
nature  and  unity  of  all  art  shall  be  seen  and 
felt,  and  the  best  work  everywhere  regarded  as 
the  best  worship. 

As  art  completes  nature,  or  is  a  fuller  expres- 
sion of  the  thought  or  purpose  of  God  than 
nature  itself,  so  is  the  imagination  of  man 
higher  and  truer  to  the  same  purpose  than  all 
that  he  calls  facts  and  realities.  Its  creations 
are  more  stable  than  the  solid  earth ;  its  func- 
tions are  higher  than  those  of  the  exact  sci- 
ences ;  and  there  is  nothing  that  man  can  know 
at  all  that  he  cannot  know  more  perfectly 
through  this  power.  The  great  German  poet 
made  some  of  the  most  important  scientific  dis- 
coveries by  processes  purely  imaginary,  which 
were  afterwards  endorsed  by  the  highest  scien- 
tific authorities.  The  naturalist  is  as  depend- 
ent on  this  power  as  the  poet.  From  the  single 
bone  he  can  reconstruct  the  whole   animal  to 


MAN  AND   KATUBE.  249 

which  it  belonged.  He  can  give  its  size,  its 
form,  its  food,  and  all  the  general  habits  of  its 
life.  This  has  actually  been  done  where  only 
one  bone  of  the  kind  was  known  to  exist ;  and 
a  living  specimen  was  afterwards  found  corre- 
sponding in  every  respect  to  this  creature  of  the 
naturalist's  imagination. 

This  is  the  ideal  completing  power.  It  sees 
the  fitness  of  things ;  it  sees  how  things  should 
be  to  correspond  one  with  another,  like  the  dif- 
ferent bones  of  the  animal ;  it  also  puts  flesh 
and  blood  on  to  the  dry  bones.  In  history  it 
accurately  fills  out  the  places  of  aU  missing 
facts,  so  that,  other  things  being  equal,  the 
historian  who  has  the  greatest  imagination  will 
write  the  truest  and  best  account  we  can  get 
of  any  period.  The  great  poet  and  novelist, 
Scott,  has  given  us  more  accurate  pictures  of 
the  times  and  scenes  to  which  his  books  relate 
than  we  could  get  from  all  the  facts  from  which 
he  gathered  his  materials,  or  from  any  other 
source.  As  God's  plan  of  the  creation  is  more 
perfect  than  its  execution,  so  man's  ideal  in  all 
things  is  more  true  than  the  real,  and  hence 
ever  opens  to  him  new  and  more  perfect  ways, 
11* 


250  ESSAYS.    ■ 

or  leads  him  up  to  higher  standards  of  thought 
and  life.  Imagination  is  the  power  by  which 
man  enters  into,  or  comprehends,  the  designs  of 
God  in  nature  and  in  himself.  He  thus  seizes 
upon  the  divine  ideal,  and,  through  art  and 
culture,  is  destined  to  realize  it.  He  is  born  a 
poet  and  an  artist,  and  will  develop  and  perfect 
himself  only  as  he  develops  and  perfects  the 
world  around  him.  In  the  great  fact  on  which 
we  first  engaged  our  attention,  —  that  the  low- 
est of  the  Creator's  works  are  perfect  and 
imperfect,  as  we  go  up  to  nature  and  man, 
—  we  find  evidence,  not  of  less  providence  and 
love,  but  of  more,  infinitely  more.  It  is  the 
highest  and  most  glorious  prophecy  for  the 
future  of  these  highest  works.  We  can  set  no 
bounds  to  the  improvements  that  may  be  made 
in  all  these  higher  departments  of  life.  See 
how  art  and  culture  have  already  changed  the 
plants  and  animals  which  specially  belong  to 
man,  and  which  he  has  taken  under  his  care. 
We  know  not  the  kind  or  quality  of  the  fruit 
that  so  strongly  tempted  our  Mother  Eve  in 
the  Garden  of  Eden ;  but,  if  it  was  not  better 
than    most  of    the    original    or    native    kinds 


MAN   AND   NATURE.  251 

with  which  we  are  acquainted,  she  must  have 
been  very  weak  in  the  way  of  temptation,  or 
very  hungry  in  the  way  of  food.  For  the  natu- 
ral stocks  from  which  have  come  all  our  tender, 
juicy,  delicious,  and  beautiful  apples  and  pears, 
once  bore  fruit  too  sour,  bitter,  and  crabbed  for 
swine  to  eat.  So  of  many  other  kinds  of  fruits, 
vegetables,  and  domestic  animals.  Their  whole 
character  has  been  changed  by  human  art  and 
culture. 

Similar  remarks  may  be  made  in  regard  to 
flowers.  The  greatest  improvements  have  been 
made  in  their  forms,  colors,  fragrance,  and  in  aU 
that  can  dehght  the  senses  of  man.  These  high- 
est things  of  the  vegetable  world  are,  under  his 
care,  losing  their  original  imperfections.  That 
original  defects  exist,  is  seen  in  the  fact  that 
many  flowers  and  leaves,  growing  on  the  same 
plant,  do  not  harmonize  with  each  other,  are 
not  the  best  arrangement  that  can  be  made  with 
either.  If  we  put  the  leaves  of  one  plant 
with  the  flowers  of  another,  both  seem  far  more 
beautiful  than  before.  We  have  often  seen  the 
most  wonderful  effects  produced  in  this  way. 
It  is  thus  in  the  power  of  man  to  set  these  pict- 


252  ESSAYS. 

"ares  of  God,  the  flowers,  iu  better  frames  than 
those  in  which  he  originally  placed  them.  In 
this  whole  matter  of  changing  stocks,  blending 
colors,  and  adjusting  forms,  what  whole  new 
realms  of  art  there  must  yet  be  unexplored  and 
unknown  !  In  fruits,  flowers,  domestic  animals, 
and  in  every  thing  made  imperfect,  and  subjected 
to  the  control  of  man,  what  unlimited  scope  for 
art  and  progress  ! 

In  regard  to  the  scenery  of  the  earth  too,  about 
which  so  many  persons  are  so  enthusiastic  in 
in  their  admiration ;  not  a  landscape  was  com- 
pleted, or  its  difi*erent  parts  arranged  with 
regard  to  the  greatest  artistic  eff'ects.  There 
is  everywhere  something  wanting,  which  man 
alone  can  supply.  There  are  wild,  picturesque, 
sublime,  and  lovely  scenes,  —  beautiful  pictures, 
scattered  all  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  But 
that  person  must  be  in  a  wild  or  morbid  condi- 
tion who  can  be  satisfied  with  the  sight,  or  com- 
panionship of  great  rocks  or  mountains,  great 
forests  or  rivers ;  who  cannot  see  that  every 
landscape  is  perfect  according  to  the  variety  of 
elements  combined  in  it;  or  according  as  it 
addresses  the  greatest  number  of  his  faculties 


MAN  AND  NATUEE.  253 

aud  feelings.  As  the  ocean  is  the  most  beauti- 
ful where  the  most  ships  are  coursing  over  it, 
so  are  these  wUd,  picturesque,  and  mountainous 
scenes  of  nature  most  admirable  when  we  can 
see  the  roads,  the  pathways  of  man,  winding 
around  among  them,  and  his  bridges  thrown  over 
their  rivers,  his  cottages,  schools,  churches,  and 
villages  peering  out  of  his  cultivated  shrubbery, 
or  his  farm-houses  dotted  about  among  the  hills 
surrounded  with  flocks  and  herds,  with  waving 
fields  of  grass  and  of  grain. 

Thus  man  and  nature  are  the  complements  of 
each  other,  and  taken  together  make  one  perfect 
whole.  Their  purpose  is  to  develop  each  other. 
God,  in  nature,  gives  glimpses,  hints  of  his 
grand  and  beautiful  artistic  thoughts ;  and 
leaves  them  for  men  to  study  and  improve. 
He  gives  sketches,  outlines  of  pictures,  and 
leaves  them  for  men  to  fill  out  or  finish.  The 
earth  is  a  school.  God  is  the  teacher,  man  the 
pupil,  and  perfection  the  lesson.  Thus  human 
art  is  the  completion  of  divine  art ;  and  all  the 
labor  it  involves  is  of  the  same  high  and  holy 
character  as  the  creation  itself.  O  man,  adorn er, 
beautifier,  almost  re-creator  of  the  world,  poet, 


254  ESSAYS. 

artist,  child  of  God,  partaker  of  tlie  divine  na- 
ture, see  that  thou  doest  all  thy  work  worthily, 
in  the  spirit  of  the  poet  and  artist,  and  not  in 
that  of  the  hireling  1 


HUMAN  CONSCIOUSNESS.  256 


m. 

HUMAN    CONSCIOUSNESS. 

"IT yHEN  a  person  awakes  from  a  deep  slum- 
ber, or  comes  out  of  a  swoon,  or  from 
any  ■  unconscious  to  conscious  existence,  we 
speak  of  the  act  as  coming  to  himself.  But  the 
phrase  has  an  infinitely  deeper  meaning  than  in 
its  reference  to  this  mere  conscious  life,  or  the 
mere  activity  of  powers  or  affections.  Whoever 
really  comes  to  himself  comes  to  the  very  essence 
of  his  being,  to  the  great  source  of  all  being,  to 
a  consciousness  of  the  great  all  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  lives.  He  comes  to  the  most  vital  of 
all  questions  concernmg  God  and  nature  and  his 
fellow-beings.  He  finds  that  he  has  the  most 
intimate  and  vital  connections  with  every  thing 
about  him.  He  at  once  asks,  "  What  am  I  ? 
whence  came  I  here  ?  whither  am  I  tending  ? 
what  h  all  this  boundless  universe  to  me  ?  "* 


256  ESSAYS.  - 

There  is  nothing  so  astonishing  to  him  as  him- 
self. 

What  is  this  human  consciousness,  and  what 
does  it  embrace?  This  is  the  great  question 
now  before  us.  What  is  this  something  that 
sees  through  the  eyes,  that  hears  through  the 
ears,  that  smells  through  the  nostrils,  that  tastes 
through  the  palate,  that  feels,  in  every  part  of 
this  body,  every  object  which  comes  in  contact 
with  it?  These  senses  are  mere  instruments 
used  by  some  power  behind  them  —  mediums 
of  communication  between  that  intangible, 
invisible  something  that  man  calls  himself  and 
the  outward,  visible  world.  These  bodies,  that 
are  feeding,  tolling,  sleeping,  and  so  intimately 
known  in  so  many  forms  of  activity,  are  not  we, 
they  are  ours.  They  are  ours  to  use,  according 
to  our  will  and  pleasure.  Just  as  the  uni- 
verse is  not  God,  as  the  pantheist  asserts ; 
but  it  is  his,  his  body.  He  possesses  and 
lives  in  and  through  it  as  intimately  and 
vitally  as  we  live  in  and  through  oiu*  bodies. 
Its  forms  are  expressions  of  his  thoughts,  as 
truly  as  St.  Peter's  Church,  at  Rome,  is  an 
expression  of  Michael  Angelo's  thought.     Its 


HUMAN  CONSCIOUSNESS.  257 

harmonies  are  his  music ;  its  laws,  his  will ; 
and  not  a  movement  is  originated,  or  continued, 
except  by  mandate  of  this  infinite  central 
power. 

What  this  vital,  central  intelligence  is  we 
know  not,  either  in  ourselves  or  in  the  universe. 
"We  can  know  ourselves,  we  can  know  God, 
only  through  our  consciousness.  We  apprehend 
both,  but  can  comprehend  neither.  We  are 
only  what  we  ai:e  conscious  of  b^ing.  We 
know  of  the  outward  world  only  what  our 
minds  have  used  and  appropriated.  We  know 
of  God  only  what  we  have  felt  of  his  presence 
in  nature  and  in  our  own  souls.  But  how 
immense  is  the  sweep  of  this  spiritual  power, 
this  conscious  personality  in  us  ! 

All  the  past  is  present  to  us.  We  go,  in  our 
thought,  step  by  step  through  all  the  immense 
geological  periods  of  our  globe,  over  the  history 
of  all  the  nations  and  races  of  men  that  have 
ever  lived  upon  its  surface,  over  the  sun  and 
stars,  over  the  worlds  and  sj^stems  of  worlds 
that  lie  around  us  in  the  infinitude  of  space, 
over  all  our  own  lives,  all  the  persons  we  have 
known,  all  the  scenes  we  have  witnessed,  all  the 

Q 


258  ESSAYS. 

events  and  circumstances  of  which  we  have 
taken  cognizance,  —  all  are  present  in  us,  to 
be  recalled  and  used  at  any  time  we  please. 
Nothing,  of  all  this  experience,  knowledge,  or 
conscious  life,  is  ever  lost. 

Now  the  great  question  is,  how  all  these  things 
are  present  in  us.  Have  they  really,  through 
consciousness,  entered  into  our  life  and  become 
a  part  of  us  ?  Or  are  they  recorded  in  a  book 
of  remembrance  for  our  mental  use  and  conven- 
ience ? 

What  is  this  wonderful  thing  that  we  call 
memory  ?  Is  it  a  special  faculty,  using  a  par- 
ticular part  of  the  brain  ?  Not  at  all ;  for  we 
know  that  each  faculty  takes  care  of  its  own,  or 
that  there  are  as  many  different  kinds  of  memory 
as  there  are  different  faculties.  Or,  again,  is  the 
human  mind,  at  first,  as  Locke  asserted,  like  a 
sheet  of  clean,  white  paper,  on  which  experi- 
ence and  knowledge  are  recorded  as  life  pro- 
ceeds, events  making  impressions  like  types  in 
a  printing-press,  and  memory  the  reading  of 
these  impressions  ?  This  gross  materialistic 
theory,  if  admitted,  gives  no  satisfactory  solu- 
tion to  the  problem  before  us.     For  the  quea- 


HUMAN  CONSCIOUSNESS.  259 

tion  at  once  arises,  What  is  that  something 
which  reads  the  impressions  thus  made,  that 
recalls  and  lives  in  all  the  past  as  really  as  in 
the  present  ?  The  book  and  the  reader  of  the 
hook  cannot  be  the  same.  If  man  is  a  machine, 
—  a  printing-press,  for  instance, — he  is  also 
something  more;  and  this  something  more  is 
what  we  are  considering,  is  what  runs  the 
machine,  appropriates  and  uses  the  results  of 
its  operations,  is  what  is  peculiar  to  him  as 
man,  —  his  personally;  what  constitutes  him 
a  person  and  not  a  thing ;  what  is  too  spiritual 
to  be  subject  to  the  laws  of  matter ;  what,  in 
fact,  is  to  him  his  all  in  all. 

All  the  scenes  and  events  that  he  through 
knowledge  or  experience  or  thought  lives  in 
consciously,  he  lives  in  vitally.  They  are 
actually  parts  of  himself,  constituent  elements 
of  his  own  being.  He  does  not  recall  or  remem- 
ber them.  He  rehves  them,  reanimates  them. 
They  are  always  vital  in  proportion  to  the 
vitality  of  his  spirit.  He  thus  reanimates  most 
readily  what  he  has  lived  in  most  truly,  and  felt 
most  deeply.  The  events  of  his  early  life  are 
freshest  in  old  age,  because  his  life  was  then 


260  ESSAYS. 

every  way  fresher,  stronger,  and  deeper.  He 
thus  lives  in  all  his  knowledge,  in  all  his  sympa- 
thies, in  all  his  affections.  And  out  of  such  life 
nothing  can  be  utterly  lost,  in  time  or  eternity. 

Over  this  all-animating,  all-absorbing  princi- 
ple, or  personality,  death  can  have  no  power. 
It  is  a  divine,  fundamental,  spiritual  element, 
give  it  what  name  we  may.  It  is  this  that 
knows  no  limits  of  time  or  space.  It  is  this  that 
ranges  over  the  whole  creation  of  God,  taking 
and  keeping  possession  of  all  according  to  its 
own  activities  and  sympathies  ;  thus  literally, 
in  the  same  degree,  becoming  one  with  God  and 
nature,  and  all  kindred  forms  of  life. 

How  all-pervading  is  this  personality  in  our 
bodies,  directing  nerves  and  muscles,  moving 
the  whole  complex  and  delicate  machinery  to 
every  given  purpose  I  How  wonderful  the 
rapidity  of  its  operations !  You  stand  with  your 
back  towards  a  heated  stove,  your  hands  behind 
you.  Your  attention  is  given  to  some  important 
absorbing  topic,  you  touch  a  finger  to  its  heated 
surface,  and  instantaneously,  quicker  than  any 
flash  of  lightning,  it  is  taken  away.  But  rapidly 
as  this  is   accomplished  the  movement  is  not 


HUMAN  CONSCIOUSNESS.  261 

commenced  till  a  regular  telegraphic  despatch 
is  taken  by  the  nerves  up  to  the  brain,  and 
another  despatch  returned  to  the  muscles  of  the 
hand  to  contract  and  remove  the  burnt  finger. 
A  skilful  musician  seats  himself  at  a  piano  to 
play  and  sing  a  difficult  piece  of  music.  His 
fingers  fly  over  the  keys  with  the  most  astonish- 
ing dexterity,  with  the  most  wonderful  strength 
and  delicacy  of  touch  ;  he  pours  forth  corre- 
sponding notes  in  song ;  his  whole  body  seems 
to  be  charged  with  electricity,  so  rapid  and 
varied  are  all  his  movements.  But  not  a  key  is 
struck,  not  a  note  is  sounded,  not  a  muscle  is 
relaxed  or  contracted  except  as  it  is  directed  by 
telegraphic  despatches  from  the  central,  con- 
scious, willing  power.  The  music  is  of  the  soul. 
It  lives  in,  and  expresses  itself  through  these 
harmonies.  Nerves  and  muscles  are  just  as 
truly  its  mere  instruments,  as  the  piano  before 
him.  How  much  more  wonderful  is  this  ma- 
chinery than  any  ever  seen  at  our  telegraph 
offices !  Another  striking  illustration  may  be 
found  in  the  common  act  of  walking.  It  seems 
perfectly  automatic  while  it  continues.  But  it 
is  not  so  in  the  least  degree.     The  same  proc- 


262  ESSAYS. 

esses  of  willing  and  directing  are  carried  on  with 
every  single  step  as  at  the  commencement  or 
close  of  a  walk.  I  propose  to  walk  from  Cam- 
bridge to  Boston,  as  I  frequently  do.  I  start  at 
the  usual  speed,  apparently  giving  the  subject 
not  another  thought.  I  am  intently  meditating 
and  arranging  the  subject  of  this  essay.  My 
mind  is  possessed  of  this  topic  to  the  exclusion 
of  every  other ;  and  apparently  my  attention  is 
not  diverted  till  my  walk  is  closed.  Or,  per- 
haps, soon  after  starting  I  come  up  with  a 
neighbor  or  friend  going  the  same  way,  and  I 
carry  on  with  him  a  conversation  requiring 
much  mental  effort  and  attention.  I  also,  while 
passing  over  the  long  bridge,  look  up  the  beauti- 
ful river,  to  the  graceful  hills  and  landscapes  of 
Newton  and  Brookline,  sweeping  round  to  the 
great  city  that  rises  out  of  the  water,  appreciat- 
ing and  enjoying  all  this  grand  view,  at  the 
same  time  that  I  am  thinking  deeply  or  con- 
versing freely  with  my  companion.  And  yet 
not  one  step  do  I  really  take  of  all  this  long 
walk  without  a  double  mental  action,  inde- 
pendent of  those  just  described.  Every  time  I 
lift  a  foot,  or  put  it  down,  I  will  and  direct 


HUMAN"  CONSCIOUSNESS.  263 

the  movement.  I  send,  along  the  whole  line  of 
the  nerves,  despatches,  commands  to  the  muscles, 
what  motions  to  make,  when  and  how  much  to 
increase  or  decrease  their  tension. 

Now  all  this  is  impossible  or  utterly  incon- 
ceivable on  any  other  supposition  than  the  one 
before  us  —  that  the  human,  like  the  divine 
mind,  has  a  power  of  ubiquity  or  omnipresence, 
and  actually  lives  and  works  in  many  ways  and 
places  at  the  same  time  ;  in  all  the  past  and 
present,  that  is  in  its  consciousness ;  in  all  that 
is  subject  to  its  will ;  in  all  that  it  knows  and 
does.  Why  should- we  not  have  this  power  if 
we  are  to  know  and  do  all  the  divine  will,  —  if 
we  were  made  to  understand  and  enjoy  the 
works  and  ways  of  God,  and  to  co-operate  in 
his  great  purposes  ?  How  are  we  ever  to  do  this 
without  this  likeness  of  nature,  this  power  or 
ability  to  do  as  he  does,  —  pervade  the  whole 
sphere  of  our  activity  as  he  does  his?  How 
near  this  thought  brings  us  to  God!  How  it 
helps  us  to  understand  his  presence  in  all  things 
around  us,  —  the  oneness  of  all  real  spiritual 
life !  What  an  immense  scope  it  opens  for 
future    knowledge,    aspiration,    and    activity! 


264  ESSAYS. 

r 

What  a  divine  significance  it  gives  to  our  pres- 
ent existence,  to  our  commonest  thoughts  and 
actions  !  How  it  increases  our  reverence  for 
this  spiritual  personality  in  us,  and  in  our  fel- 
low-men !  What  a  tender  care  it  inspires  for 
these  material  bodies  as  the  temples  of  such 
divinely  gifted  souls !  —  as  the  powerful  and 
delicate  instruments  through  which  the  noblest 
purposes  of  God  are  to  be  wrought  out  on  earth. 
How  sacred  the  hygienic  laws,  and  all  the  vari- 
ous functions  of  such  bodies ! 

Who  that  reflects  deeply  upon  his  wonderful 
personality,  the  variety  of  its  scope,  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  scene  of  its  operations,  —  the 
world  of  time  and  space  as  it  lies  in  his  all- 
embracing  consciousness,  of  the  lightning  ra- 
pidity of  his  mental  operations,  of  his  thinking, 
wUling,  and  doing  powers,  of  his  likeness  to  the 
great  All  in  all  —  the  elements  of  his  immor- 
tality and  omnipresence,  —  can  fail  to  see  the 
greatness  of  his  nature,  and  all  the  divine  sig- 
nificance of  his  mortal  life  ?  And  when  he  sees 
this,  and  feels  burdened  and  obstructed  with 
error  and  sin,  how  can  he  help  being  attracted 
to  the  Father  of  such  a  spirit,  the  source  of  such 


HUMAN   CONSCIOUSNESS.  265 

endowments  ?  How  can  he  help  being  conscious 
of  all  his  present  unworthiness  and  debase- 
ment ?  Or  how  can  he  help  saying,  I  will  arise 
out  of  my  present  sloth,  folly,  and  thoughtless 
ingratitude ,  I  will  arise  out  of  all  my  present 
ignorance  and  defilement,  and  will  go  to  my 
Father ;  I  will  take  care  of  the  infinite  inheri- 
tance he  is  ever  ready  to  divide  with  me  ;  I  will 
give  him  myself  —  body  and  soul  —  a  living 
daily  sacrifice  ;  I  will  grow  in  all  knowledge 
and  goodness,  that  I  may  come  as  near  to  him 
in  character  as  in  nature  ;  I  will,  through  this 
oneness  of  nature,  attain  to  oneness  of  spirit,  so 
that  I  may  understand,  appreciate,  and  enjoy  all 
his  works  and  ways  ?  Such  must  be  the  process 
of  thought  in  every  person  as  he  really  "  comes 
to  himself."  As  he  comes  to  himself  he  comes 
to  this  wonderful  inner  man,  to  a  portion  of 
that  divine  spirit  by  Avhich  the  world  was  made, 
and  is  governed  ;  by  which  he  comes  to  self- 
knowledge,  a  knowledge  of  God,  and  all  that  is 
true,  beautiful,  and  good. 


12 


266  ESSAYS. 


IV. 

BEGINNING  AND  ENDING. 

T  TERE  is  a  great  subject  for  a  short  essay. 
The  beginning  and  ending  of  the  infinite 
creation  that  lies  around  us,  of  the  infinite  phe- 
nomena of  existence,  in  either  direction.  How 
shall  we  begin  it?  —  and  when  begun,  how 
shall  we  ever  think  of  ending  it  ?  The  geology 
of  our  globe  gives  us  some  good  data  for  its 
history ;  of  its  formation  out  of  ethereal  ele- 
ments, of  its  molten  and  cooling  conditions,  of 
its  disintegrations  and  stratifications ;  each 
requiring  an  inconceivable  period  of  time, 
before  the  earth  was  prepared  for  even  the 
lowest  forms  of  vegetable  or  animal  life.  Then 
the  hitftory  of  man  on  this  planet,  though  of 
comparatively  recent  date,  goes  back  ages  upon 
ages;  and,  according  to  the  law  of  develop- 
ment or  progress,  he  must  have  existed  here 


BEGnTNIKG   AKD  ENDING.  267 

long  before  he  was  able  to  leave  any  enduring 
or  any  intelligible  record  of  himself. 

But  when  we  have  thus  gone  back  through 
all  history  and  geology,  we  are  only  at  the 
beginning  of  our  journey.  We  are  just  as  much 
in  the  midst  of  things  there  as  anywhere. 
For  time  stretches  out  as  far  one  way  as  the 
other ;  and  the  same  faculties  of  the  human 
mind  which  lead  us  to  ask  about  the  beginning, 
lead  us  to  ask  about  the  ending. 

"But  if  our  life  be  life, 

And  thought  and  will  and  love 

Not  vague,  unconscious  airs 

That  o'er  wild  harp-strings  move ; 

If  consciousness  be  aught 

Of  all  it  seems  to  be, 

And  souls  are  something  more 

Than  lights  that  gleam  and  flee ; 
Though  dark  the  road  that  leads  us  thither, 
The  heart  must  ask  its  whence  and  whither." 

When  we  read  to  the  child,  out  of  the  Bible, 
that  "  in  the  beginning  God  made  the  heavens 
and  the  earth,"  he  audaciously  wants  to  know 
who  ^ade  God,  —  what  there  was  before  this 
beginning,  —  how  God  or  the  universe  could 
come  out  of  nothing.  Causality,  the  sense  of 
logical  sequence,  is  disturbed,  and  he  is  no  bettei 


268  ESSAYS. 

satisfied  than  before.  As  we  go  sounding  on  in 
this  direction,  thought  is  lost  in  this  eternity  of 
the  past.  Each  answer  suggests  a  new  ques- 
tion ;  and  all  is  resolved  into  the  original  and 
ever-recurring  one,  what  was  first  of  all  ?  What 
was  in  the  very  beginning?  At  last,  stand 
where  we  may,  we  are  in  the  very  presence  of 
the  infinite.  We  apprehend,  we  have  a  faculty 
of  causality — a  mental  or  spiritual  instinct, 
which  assures  us  that  there  must  be  a  first 
cause,  and  guiding  power  ;  that  the  universe 
must  have  been  made  by  somebody,  at  some 
time,  for  some  purpose, — by  some  infinite  intel- 
ligence. This  the  reasoning,  logical  faculties  of 
our  mental  constitution  demand ;  this  the  com- 
mon instincts  of  the  human  heart  feel  must  be 
true.  But  any  thing  beyond,  any  comprehen- 
sion of  such  an  infinite  creative  intelligence  and 
providence,  is  utterly  impossible  for  us,  in  our 
present  condition.  The  simplest  children  may 
ask  any  number  of  questions,  about  this  begin- 
ning of  things,  which  the  wisest  men  cjinnot 
answer.  And  they  do  but  follow  a  natural 
instinct  in  those  startling  inquiries.  It  is  the 
feeble,  blind  groping.^  or  reaching    out  of  the 


BEGINNING   AND    ENDING.  269 

human  soul  after  its  parent  —  the  infinite  soul 
of  the  universe.  These  endless  questionings 
about  the  beginning  of  things,  about  God,  impl}'- 
no  deficiency  of  humility  or  reverence.  They 
imply  mental  and  spiritual  activity.  They  are 
inspired  by  the  nature  that  has  been  given 
for  this  purpose.  The  human  soul  can  never 
be  satisfied  with  any  thing  short  of  the  infinite 
in  any  direction.  The  more  any  man  really 
knows,  the  more  he  will  want  to  know,  the 
more  he  will  see  before  him  to  be  known. 
As  he  progresses,  his  vision  expands,  and  his 
humility  and  reverence  are  increased  in  this 
presence  of  the  infinite  unknown. 

We  have  thus  seen  how  difficult,  how  impos- 
sible it  is  to  get  back  to  the  origin  of  things,  to 
do  what  the  active  mind  is  ever  seeking  to 
do,  —  how  difficult  to  conceive,  even  in  thought, 
of  a  time  when  things  actually  began  to  be, 
when  something  was  made  out  of  nothing. 
Thus  the  time  of  creation,  and  the  fact  of 
creation,  are  alike  beyond  even  the  highest 
flights  of  the  human  imagination. 

Now  when  we  turn  in  the  opposite  direction, 
towards  the  future,  we  find  the  same  kinds  and 


270  ESSAYS. 

degrees  of  difficulties  in  the  progress  of  our 
thought.  When  we  can  go  no  farther,  even  in 
imagination,  we  know  there  is  something  far- 
ther ;  and  something  beyond  that,  and  some- 
thing farther  still,  and  so  on,  through  eternity. 
When  we  have  reached  the  limits  of  our  knowl- 
edge, and  even  of  all  human  thoughts,  in  this 
direction,  there  is  the  same  craving  desire,  the 
same  restless  longing  to  see  farther,  and  know 
more  ;  and  we  always  feel  an  assurance  that  there 
is  something  farther  to  be  seen,  something  more 
to  be  known.  Here  it  is  that  we  apprehend  so 
much  more  than  we  can  comprehend;  that  we 
see  all  the  highest  spiritual,  truths,  as  Paul  said, 
are  spiritually  discerned ;  and  that  we  may 
trust  our  apprehensions  as  implicitly  as  our 
comprehensions. 

Again,  it  is  just  as  difficult  for  us  to  conceive 
of  a  time  when  these  worlds  and  systems  of 
worlds  around  us  will  cease  to  be,  as  when  they 
began  to  be.  Annihilation  is,  to  any  scientific, 
logical  mind,  just  as  incomprehensible  as  crea- 
tion itself.  I  know  the  Bible  speaks  of  a  time 
when  all  this  system  of  things  shall  be  dissolved, 
when  the  heavens  shall  be  rolled  together  as  a 


BEGINNING  AND   ENDING.  271 

scroll,  and  the  elements  shall  melt  with  fervent 
heat,  and  all  things  shall  pass  away.  This  time 
has  been  fixed  by  Bible  fanatics  annually  for 
many  years. 

But  all  these  descriptions  of  the  future  of 
the  material  universe  are  based  on  poetic 
Oriental  imaginations,  and  do  not  teach  the 
annihilation  of  any  thing.  Melting,  dissolving, 
gathering  up,  and  even  passing  away,  are  pro- 
cesses with  which  men  in  all  ages  have  been 
familiar.  Change  in  the  forms  of  things  we 
see  constantly  going  on  everywhere  around 
us ;  but  the  same  essential  substances  remain. 
There  is  a  perfect  providence  over  even  the 
dust  as  it  floats  in  the  sunbeam,  so  that  abso- 
lutely nothing  is  lost.  Every  chemist,  philoso- 
pher, or  person  of  any  scientific  knowledge,  at 
once  rejects  the  very  idea  of  any  thing  ever 
being  annihilated.  Cut  down  a  large  tree,  and 
burn  it  in  your  fireplace.  You  have  left  a  quart 
or  more  of  ashes.  Extract  the  alkali  to  make  a 
cleansing  soap,  and  with  the  little  refuse  feed 
the  plants  of  your  garden.  And  when  you 
have  washed  your  hands,  and  eaten  your  vege- 
tables, what  is  there  left  of  your  tree  ?     Appar- 


272  ESSAYS. 

ently  nothing.  And  yet  every  scientific  mind 
knows  that  not  a  particle  can  be  lost  in  the 
processes  through  which  the  tree  has  passed. 

This  is  true  not  only  of  solid  things,  like 
wood  and  coal,  but  of  such  imponderable  agents 
as  magnetism  and  electricity.  Any  one  of  the 
great  forces  of  nature  may  often  be  converted 
into  another ;  but  the  great  law  of  the  correla- 
tion and  conservation  of  all  these  most  ethereal 
forms  of  matter  is  as  firmly  established  as  any 
other  revealed  in  science.  The  universe  is  so 
made  that  it  could  not  go  on  without  maintain- 
ing its  equilibriums  in  every  particular.  It  is 
necessary  to  every  particle  of  matter  in  this 
globe  that  no  other  particle  should  be  lost, — 
that  there  should  be  no  increase  or  diminution 
of  any  of  the  essential  elements  of  which  it  is 
composed.  The  highest  fact  in  science,  the 
profoundest  religious  truth  in  nature,  is  this,  — 
that  there  is  at  the  helm  of  the  universe  one 
infinite  intelligence  who  so  accurately  weighed 
and  measured  the  materials  of  this  creation, 
who  so  perfectly  adjusted  and  balanced  aU  its 
most  delicate  and  most  stupendous  forces,  that 
this  perfect  equilibrium  is  maintained  through 


BEGINNING   AND   ENDING.  273 

all  these  inconceivable  ages  of  time  and  eternity. 
How  can  we  but  stand  in  profoundest  re^'  erence 
and  awe  before  this  infinite  unknown,  when 
all  that  is  known  is  thus  found  to  be  so  perfect  ? 
In  such  inquiries,  then,  we  soon  come  to  a  point 
where  we  can  see  neither  beginning  nor  ending ; 
where  creation  and  annihilation  are  equally 
beyond  our  comprehension  ;  where  we  stand  in 
awe  of  the  bare  fact  of  existence  at  all,  in  any 
form,  or  for  any  time.  The  fact  of  this  great  all 
that  lies  about  us,  —  that  the  universe  is,  that 
we  are,  the  fact  of  all  being,  — is  the  mystery  of 
mysteries. 

But  why  should  this  surprise  or  disturb  us  ? 
Personally  we  came  here  yesterday,  and  shall 
depart  to-morrow.  How  should  we  expect  to 
know  more  in  so  short  a  period  ?  We  ought  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  fact  of  being,  for  that,  in 
our  present  view,  has  a  divine  significance.  It 
implies  infinity  and  eternity.  It  implies  infinite 
origin  and  eternal  continuance.  Present  forms, 
present  phenomena  are  fleeting,  are  temporary  ; 
but  the  substances  of  things,  material  and  spirit- 
ual, are  permanent.  Nothing  can  be  utterly  lost 
out  of  such  substantial  realities ;  existences  which 

12»  B 


274  ESSAYS. 

reach  backward  and  forward  so  far  that  no  con- 
ception can  be  formed  of  their  beginning  or 
ending. 

Thus  this  great  fact,  this  mystery,  this  incom- 
prehensibleness  of  our  being,  which  at  first 
seems  so  much  against  us,  is  really  most  in  our 
favor.  The  universe  is.  Its  forms  are  filled 
with  spirit  and  life.  It  everywhere  exhibits 
intelligence,  skill,  forethought,  and  providential 
care.  "We  are,  bodies  and  souls,  the  highest 
form  of  this  general  existence,  out  of  which 
nothing  is,  or  ever  can  be,  lost.  The  long  and 
elaborate  preparation  which  geology  teaches  was 
made  for  us  on  this  globe  ;  our  very  slow  devel- 
opment and  progress,  which  all  history  records  ; 
our  imperfect,  incomplete,  individual  lives, 
which  our  present  state  of  society  everywhere 
exhibits,  —  all  point  to  a  future  infinitely  more 
sublime  than  the  past.  The  eternal  past  can 
have  no  meaning  without  this  eternal  future. 
This  whole  creation  here  is  a  perfect  failure  if 
man,  its  highest  form,  its  very  flower,  for  whom 
all  this  immense  preparation  has  been  made, 
is  to  be  annihilated  at  death ;  if  his  few,  short 
years  of   such  an  imperfect  life,  in  such  an 


BEGINNING  AND  ENDING.  276 

imperfect  condition  of  being,  are  all.  If  there 
is  not  infinitely  more  for  individuals  and  society 
than  what  we  here  see  and  know,  then  we  have 
before  us  what  we  behold  in  no  other  depart- 
ment of  the  system,  —  an  immense  dispropor- 
tion between  cause  and  effect,  —  a  marvellous 
waste  of  time  and  means. 

The  death  of  man,  considered  as  transforma- 
tion, —  a  form  of  change  or  renewal,  —  comes 
within  the  laws,  and  is  supported  by  all  the 
analogies  of  nature ;  but,  regarded  as  annihila- 
tion, would  be  the  one  great  miracle  of  the 
creation.  Think  of  blotting  out  of  existence 
the  great  minds  of  human  history,  when  the 
whole  infinite  system  of  things  has  been  at  the 
cost  of  their  birth,  growth,  discipline,  and  expe- 
rience. Think  of  such  souls  being  here  only 
these  few,  fleeting  years,  only  to  carry  about 
these  feeble,  decaying  bodies,  and  then  going  out 
into  blank  nothingness,  when  not  even  a  particle 
of  their  bodies  is  ever  lost.  When  the  pres- 
ent Josiah  Quincy  was  in  England,  some  years 
ago,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  celebrated 
marine  architect  and  engineer,  who  superin- 
tended   the    building  of    those    great    marine 


276  ESSAYS. 

engines  which  have  since  been  so  astonishing 
in  their  operations  and  results.  This  distin- 
guished man  afterwards  came  to  this  country, 
and  returned  Mr.  Quincy's  visit.  He  took 
him  in  to  see  his  father,  then  more  than  ninety 
years  of  age,  and  left  him  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance and  return  when  he  pleased.  Hour  after 
hour  passed  away  ;  the  engineer  did  not  return, 
and  his  host  went  in  to  see  what  had  become 
of  him.  He  found  them  there,  in  the  same 
position,  still  engaged  in  the  most  earnest  con- 
versation ;  and  his  first  exclamation,  after  he  got 
out  into  the  street,  was  this :  "  What  a  pity 
that  such  an  old  engine  as  that  could  not  be 
put  into  a  new  hull !  "  The  answer  was,  "  It 
is  going  to  be,  soon." 

Now  both  the  explanation  and  reply  are  in 
the  exact  line  of  our  present  thought. 

Here  was  one  of  the  grandest  old  gentlemen 
of  a  grand  old  school,  of  noble  ancestry,  tall, 
erect  form,  classical  features,  kindling  eye,  logi- 
cal and  philosophical  understanding,  keen  wit, 
excellent  practical  judgment,  great  conversa- 
tional powers,  great  purity  of  character,  great 
faculti<}s  devoted  to  the  grea(test  public  purposes; 


BEGINNING   AND   ENDING.  277 

and  to  crown  all,  a  moral  courage  which  made 
him  a  sublime  example  of  resistance  to  all  popu- 
lar, public  iniquities,  or  moral,  social,  and  polit- 
ical declensions.  Here  was  such  a  vigorous 
soul  in  a  body  more  than  ninety  years  of  age, 
with  a  memory  so  tenacious  that  he  could  repeat 
whole  poems  like  Pope's  "Essay  on  Man,"  with 
such  an  interest  in  human  progress  that  he 
could  sit  up  till  midnight  reading  Buckle's 
"  History  of  Modern  Civilization ;"  an  old  man 
who  welcomed  all  the  newest  scientific  discov- 
eries, all  the  largest,  freshest,  and  most  liberal 
thoughts  of  our  modern  literature,  with  the 
richest  and  fullest  experience  of  almost  all  forms 
of  public  life,  of  almost  all  our  remarkable  nine- 
teenth century,  —  an  experience  that  covered 
almost  all  our  national  history.  And  now,  to 
all  but  the  eye  of  faith,  this  grand,  noble  life 
was  about  to  close.  No  wonder  the  engineer 
whose  study  and  effort  all  his  life  had  been  to 
economize,  concentrate,  and  make  available  the 
great  forces  of  nature,  should  wish  to  put  that  old 
engine  which  still  continued  to  work  so  well,  into 
a  new  hull, — that  the  idea  of  death,  as  any  thing 
absolute,  should  seem  so  like  an  anomaly  to  him  I 


278  ESSAYS. 

With  such  examples  as  we  have,  in  every 
thing  around  us,  of  reformation,  renewal,  re- 
adaptations  to  new  conditions,  why  should  not 
absolute  death  always  appear  to  us  in  this  light, 
as  the  greatest  of  all  anomahes  ?  Why  should 
not  this  consciousness  that  retains  all  our  past, 
that  treasures  up  all  our  experience  and  knowl- 
edge, this  personality,  this  something  that  we 
call  ourselves,  be  as  vital  as  any  other  spiritual 
existence  ? 

Can  the  vast  acquisition  and  varied  experi- 
ence of  the  greatest  and  best  minds,  among  us 
here,  be  in  no  way  made  available  hereafter? 
Not  only  to  society,  but  to  themselves  personally, 
through  all  the  future,  so  much  of  momentum 
for  all  further  progress  ?  If  not,  then  this  world 
is  so  poorly  contrived,  with  such  unskilful  adap- 
tation of  means  to  ends,  that  it  loses  its  last  and 
highest  product ;  and  so  is  a  total  failure. 

I  say  frankly  that  none  of  the  common  argu- 
ments for  the  immortality  of  man  are  any  thing 
to  me  compared  with  the  considerations  here 
presented.  The  sure  and  steadfast  anchor  of 
my  soul  is  this  sublimity  of  being.  I  have 
endeavored  to  show  what  it  implies.     I  am. 


BEGINNING   AND   ENDING.  279 

Therefore  I  shall  continue  to  be.  Spiritually, 
personally,  I  am  inherently  and  constitutionally 
immortal.  I  believe  I  shall  live  after  death,  not 
solely  because  this  is  taught  in  the  Scriptures, 
not  because  there  is  testimony  that  Jesus  was 
raised  from  the  dead,  nor  any  thing  of  this  kind ; 
but  because  I  see  that  all  other  being  around 
me  implies  it ;  that  there  is  thus  such  a  scien- 
tific and  logical  necessity  for  it ;  that  our  indi- 
vidual and  collective  life  here,  with  all  its 
discipline  and  experience,  would  be  so  meaning- 
less, so  incomplete,  so  fragmentary  without  it ; 
because  I  see  that  the  great  inequalities  and 
imperfections  of  our  present  state  all  prophesy 
so  much  the  greater  future ;  because  I  see  so 
clearly  that  eternity  is  the  only  solution  for  the 
problems  of  time. 

I  do  not  comprehend  it  at  all ;  nor  is  it  neces- 
saiy  that  I  should.  I  simply,  with  my  best 
powers,  affections,  and  spiritual  instincts,  appre- 
liend  it.  In  all  my  highest  moods  I  feel  that 
it  must  be  so,  and  cannot  possibly  be  otherwise. 

I  know  nothing  about  beginning  or  ending, 
but  I  do  know  that  this  creation  which  has  been 
in   existence  through   such   inconceivably  long 


280  ESSAYS. 

ages,  and  has  been  so  slowly,  so  elaborately,  yet 
so  constantly  developing  into  higher  forms  of 
being  and  doing,  up  to  the  present,  cannot  have 
been  at  all  subject  to  chance,  cannot  in  the 
future  result  in  chaos  or  destruction,  is  not  a 
soulless  machine,  made  only  six  thousand  years 
ago,  a  wound-up  clock,  left  to  the  operations  of 
its  own  mechanism ;  or  with  only  occasional 
alterations  and  repairs,  with  only  occasional 
messages  and  inspu-ations  to  its  inhabitants ; 
and  finally  to  run  down  and  stop  only  to  transfer 
the  products  of  its  failure  to  prisons  of  eternal 
torment.  This  common  solution  of  the  problems 
of  life  is  to  me  infinitely  worse  than  the  baldest 
atheism.  It  is  not  only  inexpressibly  foolish,  it 
is  absolutely  devilish.  I  speak  thus  strongly 
and  positively  because  I  see  so  clearly,  and  feel 
80  deeply,  the  diiference  between  these  divine 
mysteries,  and  the  common  theological  absurdi- 
ties ;  because  the  unknown  must  be  ever  in  the 
line  of  the  known ;  the  things  apprehended  in 
the  line  of  things  comprehended. 

If  I  do  not  know  how  the  world  ever  began 
to  be,  or  can  ever  cease  to  be,  it  does  not  follow 
that  I  cannot  accurately  infer  from  the    expe- 


BEGINNING   AND  ENDING.  281 

rience  of  all  the  ages  of  geology  and  history  the 
principles  or  laws  of  its  being.  If  it  is  a  mystery 
to  me  how  I  came  to  individual  conscious  exist- 
ence here  sixty  years  ago,  and  how  J  can  cease 
to  be  a  few  years  hence,  there  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  not  search  out  and  obey  the  highest 
tendencies  of  such  a  life,  and  try  to  harmonize 
all  its  different  parts  ;  or  be  fully  persuaded  of 
my  continuance  when  I  see  everywhere  the 
reality  and  permanence  of  all  other  existence. 

I  comprehend  neither  the  divine  existence 
nor  my  own  ;  but  both  are  equally  realities  to 
me  ;  and  both  become  more  and  more  real  ac- 
cording to  the  earnestness  or  intensity  in  which 
I  now  live.  As  a  spiritual  being,  my  being 
itself  becomes  my  best  evidence  of  all  being 
and  all  continuing. 

With  the  same  emphasis  that  I  can  say  and 
feel  that  I  am,  I  can  say  and  feel  that  I  shall 
live  for  ever.  I  do  know  if  I  am  any  thing  more 
than  an  organization  of  matter,  this  something 
more  is  spiritual,  is  not  subject  to  the  laws  of 
matter.  Over  this,  death  can  have  no  power. 
I  do  know  my  soul  is  akin  to  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  universe  ;  and  that  through  this  I  am  to  grow 


282  ESSAYS. 

for  ever  into  the  knowledge  and  appreciation  of 
the  infinite  life  and  soul  of  all  things,  am  to 
become  a  partaker  of  all  the  divine  power  and 
glory. 

"Alpha  and  Omega  "  we  shall  never  see  nor 
understand ;  but  this  is  of  little  consequence, 
since  the  explanation  and  the  consolation  is  that 
our  life  is  inclosed  in  the  Infinite ;  in  the  All  in 
all  who  hath  neither  beginning  nor  ending  ;  that 
it  is  a  part  of  his  life,  that,  as  his  children,  par- 
takers of  the  same  spuitual  nature,  we  are  inher- 
itors of  the  infinite  and  eternal. 


SOCIAL  OR  COMMON-WEALTH.  ^83 


V. 

SOCIAL   OR  COMMON-WEALTH. 

TN  the  earliest  records  of  our  race  we  read 
that  God  found  it  was  not  good  for  man  to 
be  alone,  and  gave  him  a  companion.  This  was 
said  of  the  primitive  man,  and  in  relation  to  the 
sexes.  But  we  would  take  the  statement  in  a 
much  larger  sense  and  endeavor  to  unfold  and 
illustrate  the  great  social  laws  of  our  existence. 
Man  has  a  large,  a  very  large  nature,  much 
larger  than  has  generally  been  supposed.  As  a 
child  of  God  he  has  infinite  capacities  for  prog- 
ress and  enjoyment.  At  first  only  his  animal 
nature  is  developed.  He  is  gregarious,  not 
social.  He  is  attracted  to  his  kind  by  instinct, 
and  not  by  sympathy,  or  affection.  He  combines 
with  others  for  mutual  protection  and  defence, 
to  do  together  what  they  cannot  do  separately, 
Jike  the  bees,  the  beavers,  or  the  buffaloes.  First 
there  is  the  single  pair,  then  the  family,  the  tribe, 


284  ESSAYS. 

the  village,  the  city,  the  state,  the  nation,  and 
last  the  common-wealth  of  nations. 

But  all  this  man  may  do  as  a  selfish,  sagacious 
animal.  This  is  gregariousness,  not  true  soci- 
ality. All  this  is  but  a  preparation  for  liis  social 
development  as  man.  What  has  thus  begun  as 
an  instinct,  will  grow  into  a  mental  want,  with 
the  development  of  the  mental  nature,  till  it 
embraces  all  that  human  souls  are  capable  of 
being,  doing,  and  becoming  to  each  other. 

What  we  now  call  society  is  not  worthy  of 
the  name.  We  are  in  a  state  of  transition 
between  the  two  conditions  just  alluded  to. 
We  cannot  endure  an  isolated  life ;  and  yet  our 
higher  nature  is  not  sufficiently  developed  to 
draw  us  together  in  true  relations,  or  give  us 
the  social  excitement  and  enjoyment  of  which 
we  are  capable  or  which  we  seek  from  this 
source.  We  feel  that  it  is  not  good  for  us  to  be 
alone,  and  not  much  better  for  us  to  be  in  society 
as  it  is  now  constituted. 

One  of  the  greatest  evils  to  individuals  of  all 
our  small  towns  or  sparsely  populated  districts 
is  this  of  loneliness,  —  the  want  of  excitement, 
of    mental   and    social   stimulus.     This  is  felt 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  285 

most  by  the  young  whose  faculties  are  awaken- 
ing and  craving  their  objects.  They  begin  to 
feel  that  they  were  made  for  something  more 
than  to  eat  and  sleep  and  work.  They  look 
around  upon  friends,  neighbors,  and  acquain- 
ance  and,  seeing  what  a  little  world  of  petty 
cares  and  gossip  they  live  in,  they  feel  wants 
which  this  kind  of  companionship  cannot  satisfy. 
Hence  the  restlessness  which  drives  them  to 
the  cities  and  large  towns.  So  great  is  this 
mental  want,  so  strong  is  this  social  tendency, 
that  those  who  feel  it  will  endure  any  amount 
of  the  physical  discomforts  of  a  city  life  rather 
than  rust  out  amidst  the  plenty  of  the  country. 
We  are  convinced  that  this  is  directly  or  indi- 
rectly the  reason  why  so  many,  against  so  much 
advice,  and  so  many  warnings  of  failure,  flock 
into  the  cities. 

Writers  of  the  highest  authority,  who  are 
best  acquainted  with  this  kind  of  city  life,  have 
for  years  been  publicly  exposing  its  degradations 
and  miseries,  —  have  been  showing  that  its 
prizes  of  wealth  and  distinction  are  bestowed  on 
the  smallest  fraction  of  this  great  multitude  of 
competitors,  —  that  the  temptations  to  reckless- 


286  ESSAYS. 

ness  in  business,  to  extravagance  in  expenses, 
to  all  kinds  of  vices  and  crimes  are  over- 
whelming. They  have  been  constantly  point- 
ing out  to  the  more  exposed  and  destitute 
classes  the  great  advantages  of  the  country  ; 
and  as  constantly  entreating  the  youth  of  the 
country  not  to  expose  themselves  to  the  dangers 
and  disappointments  of  city  life. 

But  the  warnings  and  entreaties  have  all  been 
in  vain.  The  tendency  to  concentration  in  the 
large  towns  is  increasing  rather  than  diminish- 
ing. Hence  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  causes 
have  not  been  understood  or  removed.  It  is  use- 
less to  say  that  men  are  indolent,  and  go  to  the 
city  to  get  rid  of  the  hard  work  of  the  country  ; 
or  that  they  are  tired  of  slow  gains,  and  resort 
to  it  for  great  and  sudden  wealth,  in  a  gambling 
spirit,  just  as  they  go  to  a  lottery.  For  this  is 
true  only  of  special  cases,  and  leaves  all  unex- 
plained, the  general  attractions  of  a  city  life. 

The  only  satisfactory  explanation  will,  we 
think,  be  found  in  the  fact  that  this  kind  of 
life  is  most  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  this 
period.  The  present  is  truly  called  a  fast  age  ; 
and,  where  men  are  brought  together  in  large 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  287 

masses,  each  acts  upon  the  others  to  produce 
this  tendency  in  the  highest  degree.  In  cities 
they  walk  faster,  speak  quicker ;  do  every  thing 
with  much  greater  rapidity.  The  finest  works 
of  art  are  constantly  before  them,  to  give  culti- 
vation to  their  tastes  and  imaginations.  Every 
thing  appeals  to  their  sense  of  order  and  beauty. 
By  being  brought  into  constant  communication 
with  each  other,  they  acquire  a  degree  of  defer- 
ence and  a  courtesy  of  manner  which  is  almost 
impossible  in  an  isolated  life.  Their  sensibili- 
ties and  passions,  their  minds  and  hearts,  their 
whole  nature,  is  quickened  to  an  intense 
activity;  and  they  really  live  more  in  one  of 
these  exciting  years  than  would  be  possible  in 
many  of  opposite  circumstances.  Now  it  is  a 
consciousness  of  this  fact  which  makes  town  or 
city  residence  so  fascinating  to  this  excitable 
generation.  There  are  multitudes  who  would 
prefer,  if  necessary,  to  work  hard  and  fare 
hard,  to  live  half  starved  in  the  garrets  of  a 
populous  place,  than  miss  the  excitements 
which  such  a  place  affords.  This  tendency  is 
doubtless  carried  to  an  extreme ;  and  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  these  means  of  excitement  are 


288  ESSAYS. 

for  the  lower  as  well  as  for  the  higher  natui'e 
of  man.  But  all  this  just  as  forcibly  illustrates 
the  fact  before  us  —  the  necessity  of  this  excite- 
ment for  a  varied  activity  and  development. 

We  are  ready  to  admit  that  town  or  city  life 
does  not  generally  produce  the  best  specimens 
of  humanity.  Nearly  all  the  great  men,  in  every 
department  of  city  life,  originated  in  the  more 
obscure  places  of  the  interior,  and  spent  at  least 
their  childhood  in  the  rural  districts  of  the  coun- 
try. And  it  is  often  said  that  cities  draw  all  their 
real  life  from  such  sources  —  that  men  there 
degenerate,  physically,  mentally,  and  morally, 
and  would  soon  run  out  if  new  life  was  not  con- 
stantly supplied  from  the  small  towns. 

Now  all  this  may  be  perfectly  true  without 
affecting  our  argument  in  the  least ;  for  we  are 
not  attempting  to  defend  city  life  as  it  is,  or  to 
show  that  men  always  get  what  they  seek  in  it. 
We  are  speaking  only  of  the  advantages  it  is 
calculated  to  afford,  and  giving  the  reason  why 
people  are  so  strongly  attracted  to  it.  We 
know  that  men  here  become  more  servile  in 
spirit,  more  conservative  in  their  habits  of 
thought,  more  conventional  in  their  manners, 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON--WEALTH.  289 

and,  as  they  have  so  many  occasions  for  the 
showy  qualities,  these  oftener  predominate  over 
the  more  solid  realities  of  character.  But  these 
are  incidental  defects  of  this  kind  of  life,  and 
do  not  effect  its  general  tendencies.  We  know, 
also,  that  there  is  no  civilization  or  refinement 
where  men  are  not  brought  together  in  frequent 
social  intercourse ;  that  the  history  of  human 
progress  is  the  history  of  all  the  great  centres 
of  population ;  that  this  civilization  has  followed 
the  valleys  of  great  rivers,  or  crept  around  the 
shores  of  oceans,  where  men  have  congregated 
for  manufacturing  and  commercial  purposes ; 
and  that  wherever  they  have  again  been  sepa- 
rated, diffused  over  large  territories,  or  denied 
the  means  of  easy  and  frequent  communication, 
they  have  retrograded  to  barbarism.  You  may 
find  abundant  illustration  of  this  great  histori- 
cal fact  all  over  the  sparsely  populated  regions 
of  our  "  Great  West."  The  first  settlers  of 
these  new  countries  went  out  from  the  bosom 
of  old,  civilized  communities,  and  were  often 
a  superior  class  of  men.  But,  having  no  neigh- 
bors, no  mental  or  social  stimulus,  no  motive 
for  exertion  beyond  a  supply  of  their  physical 
18  s 


290  ESSAYS. 

wants,  they  became  rough  in  manner,  careless 
of  personal  appearance,  and  rapidly  degener- 
ated towards  a  mere  animal  life.  Their  chil- 
dren, brought  up  in  these  circumstances,  exhibit 
'these  tendencies  in  a  much  greater  degree ;  so 
that  the  second  generation  of  such  a  region  is 
much  inferior  to  the  first.  And  if  neither  new 
settlers  nor  railroads  come  near,  to  connect 
them  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  they,  at  last, 
lose  all  life  in  a  mere  existence.  They  speak 
with  ^  drawl,  walk  as  if  it  required  great 
effort,  work  as  little  as  possible,  and,  probably, 
would  give  up  breathing  if  they  had  to  go  any 
distance  for  their  breath.  There  is  a  lethargy 
of  mind  and  body,  which  is  perfectly  mar- 
vellous to  those  who  do  not  take  into  view  the 
facts  which  we  have  noticed  —  the  absence  of 
all  excitement  for  their  higher  nature.  If  these 
same  people  had  grown  up  in  society,  been 
brought  under  the  influence  of  the  social  rela- 
tions, into  familiar  contact  with  others,  all  this 
indolence  and  roughness  would  never  have 
been  known ;  all  their  faculties  would  have 
been  excited  and  developed,  and,  in  every 
respect,  they  would  have  been  very  different 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  291 

persons.  It  is  as  easy  to  account  for  the  char- 
acter of  the  boor,  as  for  that  of  the  dandy. 
They  are  the  opposite  extremes  of  opposite 
conditions.  Change  the  conditions,  and  you 
change  the  results.  In  fact,  men  are  educated 
in  society  much  more  than  in  schools.  In  the 
latter  they  get  only  the  materials,  which  the 
former  is  to  work  up  into  character.  Social 
friction  is  just  as  necessary  to  polish  men  as 
material  friction  is  to  polish  metals.  It  is  only 
in  society  that  men  get  their  rough  corners 
rubbed  off,  their  ideas  enlarged,  their  idiosyn- 
crasies removed  —  that  they  acquire  the  habit 
of  a  courteous  deference  to  each  other,  or  can 
learn  to  come  together  without  the  collisions  of 
personal  selfishness. 

All  who  live  much  in  society  do  not  receive 
these  great  blessings.  But  these  are  some  of  its 
most  direct  natural  tendencies  ;  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  God  has  given  such  prominence  to 
the  social  nature  of  man,  or  shows  why  "he 
hath  set  the  solitary  in  families."  Even  the 
single  family  is  not  enough.  This  has  existed 
everywhere.  It  still  exists  among  the  most  bar- 
barous tribes  of  men.     It  does  not  afford  scope, 


292  ESSAYS. 

variety,  or  excitement  enough  to  employ  or 
even  to  call  into  action  our  various  faculties  and 
sympathies.  It  is  only  as  many  families  come 
together  in  the  same  town  or  neighborhood  that 
the  means  of  progress  are  enjoyed. 

The  celebrated  Eddystone  Light-house  is  com- 
mitted to  the  care  of  four  men.  Two  of  them 
take  charge  of  it  by  turns,  and  are  relieved 
every  six  weeks.  But  it  often  happens,  es- 
pecially in  storm}'  weather,  that  boats  cannot 
go  to  effect  this  relief  for  many  months,  and 
these  two  persons  are  entirely  dependent  on 
each  other's  companionship.  Yet  instead  of 
being  particularly  attached  to  one  another  they 
spend  most  of  their  time  in  quarrelling.  This  is 
true  not  alone  of  any  two  men  thus  placed  there. 
It  has  been  found  to  express  a  general  fact. 
We  are  told  that  instead  of  suffering  the  recol- 
lection of  those  distresses  and  dangers  in  which 
each  is  deserted  by  all  but  one  to  endear  that 
one  to  him,  the  humors  of  each  are  so  soured 
they  prey  both  on  themselves  and  each  other. 
If  one  sits  above,  the  other  is  commonly  found 
below.  Their  meals  are  solitary;  each  like  a 
brute  growling  over  his  food  alone. 


SOCIAL   OR   COM]\rON-WEALTH.  293 

You  see  illustrations  of  this  truth  everywhere. 
None  of  our  families,  however  large  or  wealthy 
they  may  be,  or  however  well  provided  with 
all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life,  are  suffi- 
cient for  themselves. 

Children  who  at  home  can  never  agree  among 
themselves,  readily  find  in  other  families  those 
to  whom  they  are  attracted  ;  and  the  larger  the 
range  of  their  choice,  the  more  readily  they  find 
companionship  that  is  pleasant  and  profitable  to 
them.  Those  of  the  same  family  are  too  much 
alike  to  agree  as  well  together  as  with  others. 
The  greater  variety  of  objects  we  have  for  all 
our  powers  and  affections,  the  wiser  and  better 
will  be  their  choice. 

The  more  channels  are  opened,  into  which 
the  streams  of  individual  life  can  freely  flow,  the 
more  likely  every  person  is  to  find  that  employ- 
ment and  pleasure  which  is  best  adapted  to  his 
peculiar  nature,  to  do  easily  and  well  the  pecul- 
iar work  which  Providence  has  assigned  him. 

Those  bees  make  the  best  honey  that  have 
the  greatest  variety  of  flowers  from  which  to 
gather  the  material.  Other  things  being  equal, 
those  persons  enjoy  the  best  health  who  have 


.294  ESSAYS. 

the  greatest  variety  of  food.  The  productions 
of  every  soil  and  chmate  conduce  to  man's  phys- 
ical well-being  ;  and  this  law  must  apply  with 
still  greater  force  to  his  mind  and  heart.  He 
needs  for  his  highest  mental,  moral,  and  social 
development  to  come  in  contact  with  as  many 
other  persons  as  possible.  AU  may  get  some- 
thing from,  or  give  something  to  each  other. 
No  individual  approaches  to  wholeness  of  char- 
acter except  as  he  becomes  the  product  of  all 
human  history  and  experience  ;  and  this  he  can 
acquire  mainly  through  his  personal  relations 
and  vital  sympathies.  Society #s  the  result  of 
all  that  men  have  done  and  are  doing  ;  and  no 
one  can  live  in  it,  even  in  the  humblest  capacity, 
without  getting  more  or  less  of  its  spirit,  with- 
out sharing  more  or  less  of  its  blessings. 

We  see  and  feel  its  many  and  great  defects. 
We  are  ready  to  admit  the  truth  of  almost  all 
that  is  said  against  it.  As  wc  think  of  the  false- 
hood and  injustice,  the  wrongs  and  oppressions, 
which  are  countenanced,  tolerated,  and  legalized 
in  it,  we  often  get  out  of  all  patience  with  it ; 
and  are  prompted  by  indignation,  and  almost 
with  despair,  to  exclaim  with  Cowper, — 


SOCIAL   OE   COMMON-WEALTH.  295 

"  Oh  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness ! " 

But  we  have  only  to  go  out  of  society  for  a 
short  time,  we  have  only  to  go  beyond  the  reach 
of  its  influences,  to  change  this  state  of  feeling, 
and  to  see  how  dependent  we  are  upon  it  for  all 
that  we  most  value  in  life,  for  all  that  relates 
to  the  wants  and  development  of  our  higher 
nature. 

Society  represents  the  sum  total  of  all  human 
experience  ;  for  nothing  has  ever  been  lost  from 
it,  any  more  than  from  the  material  creation. 

Every  human  effort,  in  whatever  direction, 
is  an  achievement ;  is,  in  one  way  or  another, 
directly  or  indirectly,  even  as  a  warning  or  a 
failure,  the  means  of  a  greater  success.  Every 
thing  that  has  ever  been  done  in  the  world  has 
thus  been  done  for  us.  We  are  every  one  of  us 
richer  to-day  for  every  day's  work  that  has  ever 
been  done  in  field  or  forest,  on  land  or  sea,  in 
shop  or  mine,  by  the  mental  or  physical  power 
of  every  other  human  being  who  has  ever  lived 
on  this  planet.  We  are  freer  to-day  for  every 
resistance  that  has  ever  been  made  against  in- 
justice and  oppression.  Every  battle  that  has 
been  fought  makes  one  less  for  us  to  fight.    We 


296  ESSAYS. 

are  to-day  enjoying  the  rights,  securities,  and 
blessings  which  have  been  purchased  by  the 
struggles,  sufferings,  and  death  of  millions  of 
men. 

All  the  heroes  and  martyrs,  all  the  wise  and 
good  men,  who  have  ever  Hved,  have  lived  for 
us.  All  our  laws  and  institutions,  our  arts  and 
sciences,  cur  languages  and  literatures,  our 
means  of  physical,  mental,  and  moral  advance- 
ment, represent  not  us,  but  those  who  have 
gone  before  us,  —  these  are  the  fruits  of  their 
labors,  rather  than  ours;  and  civilization,  or 
society,  is  that  in  which  all  human  labor  of  body 
and  of  miud  culminates.  We  have  been  here 
but  a  little  while,  and  have  done  nothing  but 
the  work  that  was  put  into  our  hands.  We 
inherit  all  the  past ;  we  start  in  hfe  with  the 
accumulations  of  ages,  with  innumerable  lega- 
cies, each  of  inestimable  value.  What  wealth 
of  example  and  experience,  what  lessons  of 
warning  and  encouragement  from  all  hmnan 
history  I  What  vast  stores  of  labor  are  laid 
up  for  us  in  these  roads,  bridges,  houses, 
ships,  factories,  —  these  whole  towns,  villages, 
and  cities  of  all  nations,   with   the   unlimited 


SOCIAL  OB  COMMON-WEALTH.  297 

domain  of  cultivated  farms  and  vast  herds  of 
domesticated  animals,  —  in  a  word,  of  all  that 
passes  under  the  term  of  real  estate !  All 
that  is  worth  any  thing  is  the  result  of  human 
labor. 

No  figures  can  express,  no  imagination  can 
conceive,  of  the  sum  of  these  riches.  And  yet 
all  this  one  generation  inherits  of  the  preced- 
ing ;  and  in  its  highest  uses  it  is  all  common- 
wealth. 

Then  there  is  all  the  inheritance  of  mind  and 
heart,  all  the  wisdom  and  goodness  which  have 
been  organized  in  all  illustrious  individuals,  and 
all  enlightened  communities  ;  in  institutions  of 
learning,  benevolence,  and  philanthropy  !  Who 
can  calculate  the  sum  of  the  blessings  of  which 
these  are  the  means ;  and  yet  they  are  all 
the  results  of  innumerable  failures,  delays,  and 
partial  defeats.  What  a  vast  amount  of  diffi- 
culty and  danger,  of  toil,  trial,  and  disap- 
pointment is,,  embodied  in  all  the  achievements 
of  society,  imperfect  as  these  may  now  be  !  In 
fact  they  are  not  mere  achievements.  They 
are  creations  all  of  past  efforts,  struggles,  and 
sacrifices. 
18* 


298  ESSAYS. 

Now  to  go  out  of  society  is  to  give  up  our 
share  of  all  this  (various  accumulations  of 
ages)  and  begin  in  the  condition  of  the  primeval 
man. 

This  of  course  cannot  now  be  done  perfectly ; 
but  it  is  done  just  in  proportion  as  men  go  from 
the  great  centres  of  wealth  and  population ; 
just  in  proportion  as  they  scatter  over  large 
territories  without  the  means  of  frequent  social 
and  commercial  intercourse. 

In  all  the  sparsely  populated  regions  of  our 
great  West  we  find  this  strikingly  illustrated. 
We  find  men  laboring  under  nearly  the  same  dis- 
advantages as  those  of  our  Pilgrim  Fathers,  or 
as  those  who  first  began  to  settle  this  continent. 
They  have  little  or  nothing  except  land ;  no 
variety  of  food ;  no  convenience  or  beauty  of 
shelter ;  no  roads,  or  bridges ;  no  meetings, 
schools,  lyceums,  or  post-offices.  They  are 
beyond  the  reach  of  nearly  all  the  influences 
of  science,  art,*  machinery,  and  capital.  They 
are  benefited  by  none  of  these  great  produc- 
tive agencies.  They  share  none  of  the  immense 
common-wealth  which  has  here  been  increasing 
for  centuries. 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  299 

These  are  only  some  of  the  physical  disad- 
vantages of  such  a  life.  It  is  a  condition  in 
which  men  are  always  really  poor,  though  liv- 
ing in  the  midst  of  boundless  natural  resources. 
But  their  mental  and  moral  evils  are  still 
greater,  and  such  as  time  cannot  so  speedily 
remove. 

The  remark  is  frequently  made,  that  men 
degenerate  in  all  countries  where  there  is  a 
fertile  soil  and  genial  climate  ;  that  they 
become  rough  in  their  manners,  idle  and  care- 
less in  their  habits,  and  that  they  would  soon 
run  out  if  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  others, 
from  colder  and  more  sterile  regions,  were  con- 
stantly coming  among  them  to  infuse  new  life 
and  energy.  It  is  said  that  our  New  England 
men,  full  of  force  and  enterprise,  when  they 
go  to  these  South-western  States,  soon  fall 
down  to  the  level  of  the  people  they  find  there ; 
soon  become  as  indolent,  and  indifferent,  and 
unprogressive  as  others. 

Now  this  is  all  undeniably  true ;  but  a  wrong 
cause  is  always  assigned  for  it.  Soil  and  climate 
have  little  to  do  with  it.  It  nearly  all  comes  from 
the  fact  that  those  States  are  so  sparsely  popu- 


800  ESSAYS. 

lated,  that  men  there  lack  all  the  mental  and 
moral  stimulus  of  society.  This  physical  indo- 
lence comes  from  the  want  of  mental  ar\,d  social 
excitement.  Men  who  work  only  for  the  body 
will  work  no  more  than  the  body  requires  ;  and 
in  fertile  States,  this  labor  being  comparatively 
light,  the  indolence  and  degeneracy  of  the 
people  will  be  correspondingly  increased.  But 
let  these  same  States  be  filled  up  with  inhabi- 
tants, so  that  there  could  be  a  daily  and  neigh- 
borly contact  of  the  people,  —  a  daily  friction 
of  one  mind  with  another ;  let  there  come  the 
keen  competitions  of  trade  and  manufactures, 
che  multiplication  of  articles  of  convenience, 
taste,  and  luxury,  and  how  soon  this  state  of 
things  would  be  changed,  how  soon  we  would 
cease  to  hear  about  these  effects  of  soil  and 
climate !  When  men  begin  to  work  for  the 
mind,  for  the  things  that  minister  to  the  wants 
of  their  higher  nature,  they  find  no  bounds  for 
their  aspirations  or  energies. 

The  people  of  New  England  have  attained 
their  superior  moral  and  social  state  not  because 
their  cKmatu  is  cold  and  their  soil  rocky  or 
barren ;  but  because  thi '  part  of  the   country 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  301 

has  been  settled  so  much  longer  and  more 
densely,  and  because,  being  so  poor  in  soil  and 
climate,  its  inhabitants  have  been  forced  into 
commerce  and  manufactures,  and  so  into  cities 
and  large  towns,  where  in  constant  intercourse 
their  minds  have  been  stimulated,  refined,  and 
sharpened  by  all  kinds  of  excitements  and  com- 
petitions. With  us  there  is  everywhere  a  social 
rivalry  which  taxes  to  the  utmost  all  our  ener- 
gies of  body  and  mind.  We  are  each  trying 
to  have  in  every  department  of  life  something  a 
little  better  than  that  of  our  neighbors.  But 
scatter  us  on  the  vast  prairies  of  the  West, 
where  we  should  have  no  neighbors,  and  see 
how  long  this  ambitious  energy  would  last.  If 
we  study  out  the  real  causes  of  the  difference 
between  the  people  of  the  East  and  those  of  the 
West,  and  give  due  weight  to  social  influences, 
we  shall  cease  to  echo  the  common  talk  about  a 
good  soil  and  climate  being  unfavorable  to  the 
development  and  progress  of  men.  It  must, 
from  the  very  nature  of  the  case,  be  all  the 
other  way.  Other  things  being  equal,  especially 
those  to  which  we  have  attached  so  much 
importance,  the  most  fertile   country  must  be 


302  ESSAYS. 

tlie  most  favorable  to  men ;  because  the  more 
easilj  their  physical  wants  can  be  supplied 
the  more  time  and  attention  they  can  give 
to  their  mental  and  spiritual  wants.  Make 
the  population  of  the  fertile  West  as  great 
and  compact  as  this  of  the  barren  East,  and 
a  better  state  of  society  will  exist  there  than 
here. 

If  a  man  has  nothing  to  live  for  but  bread,  or 
to  supply  his  animal  wants,  and  he  lives  where 
these  can  be  supplied  by  very  little  effort,  what 
wonder  that  we  there  so  often  find  him  a  lazy, 
loafing,  whiskey-drinking  animal  I  What  wonder 
that  he  should  degenerate  —  that  he  should  seek 
those  low  and  debasing  excitements  where  there 
is  such  a  total  absence  of  all  others !  His  log 
hut  is  good  enough,  if  it  is  as  good  as  others 
have.  What  difference  does  it  make  where 
there  is  nobody  to  look  at  it  ?  So  in  regard  to 
all  the  details  of  his  outward  condition :  with- 
out the  external  influences  of  society  to  force 
him  upward,  he  is  just  as  sure  to  go  downward 
as  any  other  unsupported  body.  In  his  isolated 
state  he  follows  all  the  impulses  he  has,  but 
these  are  few  and  all  in  one  direction.    He  has 


SOCIAI.   OE   COMMON-WEALTH.  303 

no  use  for  any  of  his  higher  faculties,  and  hence 
they  are  never  called  into  exercise.  Let  the 
same  places  become  populous,  and  the  same  peo- 
ple will  experience  more  real  life  in  one  week 
than  in  whole  years  of  this  existence.  One 
improvement  will  lead  to  another,  till  there  will 
be  no  bounds  to  the  mental  and  social  rivalry. 
Thus  every  thing  above  the  mere  animal  condi- 
tion is,  directly  or  indirectly,  the  product  of  the 
social  influences. 

We  have  so  far  spoken  more  particularly,  of 
the  physical  and  mental  advantages  of  society 
to  the  individual;  but  our  remarks  are  also 
applicable  to  manners  and  morals. 

There  are  whole  classes  of  persons  in  intelli- 
gent, moral,  and  religious  communities  who  are 
kept  up  at  a  much  higher  level  than  they  would 
be  by  themselves  or  in  society  of  a  different 
character.  Many  a  man  of  good  habits  and 
good  standing  here  goes  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country,  into  a  different  mental  and  moral 
atmosphere,  and  soon  becomes  a  very  different 
person,  adopts  a  different  standard  of  manners 
and  morals,  and,  in  the  change,  often  goes  to 
the  other  extreme,  and  falls  even  below  what 


304  ESSAYS. 

public  sentiment  there  requires  of  him.  One  of 
the  most  intelligent  residents  of  one  of  these 
cities,  himself  an  Eastern  man,  and  thoroughly 
conversant  with  both  Eastern  and  Western  life, 
fuUy  confirmed  this  view  when,  speaking  to  me 
of  the  great  numbers  of  Eastern  people  in  that 
city,  said  they  were  scarcely  the  same  persons 
as  before  they  came  there,;  or  they  would  have 
given  the  city  more  of  a  New  England  charac- 
ter. "  I  never  knew,"  he  said,  "  till  I  came  to  the 
West,  how  much  we  were  the  creatures  of  educa- 
tion and  circumstances  —  how  much  individuals 
are  indebted  to  the  public  sentiment  or  high  tone 
of  our  New  England  life."  But  it  may  be  said 
if  such  a  large  number  of  persons  are  kept 
above  their  natural  level  by  these  public  influ- 
ences, there  can  be  little  or  no  merit  in  it, 
since  it  is  the  result  of  outward  pressure,  and 
not  of  inward  principles.  We  admit  all  this. 
We  are  not  deceived  in  regard  to  its  conven- 
tional character.  But  we  say  that  even  this  is 
a  very  great  blessing.  It  is  better  to  have  con- 
ventional manners  and  morals  than  to  have  none 
at  all.  It  is  better  to  have  men  forced  to 
observe  the  courtesies,  proprieties,  and  decen- 


SOCIAL  OE   COMMON-WEALTH.  306 

cies  of  life  than  to  have  them  openly  and  fla- 
grantly violated  as  they  are  in  a  lower  state  of 
society. 

It  is  a  great  blessing  to  live  anywhere  where 
you  can  be  secured  from  such  annoyances ;  where 
there  is  any  thing  to  repress  the  ebullition  of 
the  selfish  animal  passions,  and  keep  such  great 
numbers  of  people  above  the  natural  level  of 
their  characters.  If  there  is  no  heart  in  this 
outward  conventional  courtesy  and  morality, 
there  is  a  vast  amount  of  enjoyment  and  comfort 
in  it  for  all  refined,  intelligent  persons,  and 
more  than  they  can  ever  conceive  of  till  they 
go  where  it  is  not  to  be  found ;  where  coarse, 
selfish,  animalized  men  act  themselves  out 
without  any  social  restraints.  Besides  this,  if 
we  go  into  society  where  we  are  forced  by 
custom  or  public  opinion  to  curb  our  appetites 
and  passions,  to  restrain  and  govern  our  first 
personal  impulses  and  inclinations,  we  are  very 
likely  at  last  to  do  that  from  principle  which  we 
at  first  did  from  interest,  —  to  pursue  from  the 
highest  motives  a  course  into  which  we  at  first 
were  driven  by  the  external  pressure  of  defer- 
ence to  others. 


306  ESSAYS. 

While  on  the  other  hand  these  chances  are  all 
against  those  who  refuse  this  deference  or  go 
beyond  the  reach  of  these  lower  and  common 
influences.  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  them 
from  sinking  lower  and  lower  till  they  come  to 
a  mere  animal  existence. 

This  is  the  great  lesson  from  the  experience 
of  ages.  There  has  been  no  civilization  any- 
where except  as  the  solitary  have  been  brought 
together,  and  thus  made  individuals  partakers 
of  a  common  life,  —  a  common-wealth  of  refine- 
ment, intelligence,  and  goodness ;  and  whenever 
and  wherever  they  have  again  scattered  them- 
selves abroad  over  the  earth,  or  gone  beyond  the 
influence  of  this  common  stock  of  human  attain- 
ments, they  have  invariably  retrograded  towards 
barbarism.  Even  the  monks  and  nuns  who  shut 
themselves  up  in  monasteries  and  convents,  who 
went  out  of  society  from  the  highest  motives, 
for  a  religious  purpose, —  to  save  their  souls, — 
afford  an  instance  of  most  signal  failure.  They 
fell  so  far  below  society,  they  became  so  indolent, 
corrupt  and  sensual,  that  society  was  obliged,  in 
its  own  defence,  to  break  up  their  retreats,  and 
send  them  back  into  the  world  again  to  mend 


SOCIAL   OR   COMMON-WEALTH.  307 

their  manners  and  their  morals.  So  true  is  it 
that  the  best  life  of  each  is  bound  up  in  the  life 
of  all ;  and  that  the  highest  forms  of  civilization 
can  come  only  as  this  great  law  of  humanity  is 
recognized  and  obeyed. 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  9on. 


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